The Song of the Master of Death
by ffdrake
Summary: Jon Snow was always told that the Old Gods did not speak. But when he finally has enough and kneels before the heart tree asking the gods 'why', the gods suddenly answer. Or at least someone answers. And it is an answer that will reshape Westeros forever. Mostly GOT setting with elements of HP mixed in. Pairings undecided at moment, but will happen.
1. Chapter 1

**So, before everyone starts yelling at me, no I have not abandoned my ****In All Things Balance**** series. I am still in fact working on the third arch ****Unification War****. But honestly, I'm having more than a little bit of writer's block with the series. Adding onto the fact that my RL has been seriously complicated lately and well…I needed something fun to write! And honestly Game of Thrones has been stuck in my head for a long time. So, I figured, what better way to get the creative juices flowing than to write something that won't leave me alone huh?**

**There were a couple of crosses that I considered, I even considered not doing a cross. In the end it came down to two. This story or another which would've been a SWTOR and GOT cross over. Obviously, this story won out. Now that said, this isn't a Harry get's reborn into Westeros. In fact, Harry's role will be kind of slight in this story. That's not to say he won't have a role to play because he will. But I'm trying something that I haven't necessarily read before in HP/GOT crosses I thought, 'why not give it a try'. This story, as you will find out quickly, picks up at the end of original HP series but it is not cannon compliant. I try to explain as much as I can, but honestly what happens in the HP verse isn't vital to this story. But if anyone reading this likes what they've read about the HP verse in the first section, you are more than welcome to expand on it, just let me know beforehand. **

**Lastly, not sure how often I'm going to be updating this story as I said, I'm writing it for fun and to try and get the creative juices flowing again. But any feedback or suggestions are more than welcome! Criticism as well, I just ask that you keep it polite. I try and answer reviews, but honestly if you leave a review saying, 'this sucks and you shouldn't be writing' (trust me, I've gotten those and worse before, one even saying I should kill myself and that I was going to be sued for writing fanfiction) your message will be ignored.**

**And obviously, HP and GOT do not belong to me. They are the works of J.K Rowling, GRR Martin and HBO respectively (I kind of break GOT into GRR Martin and HBO writers cause, honestly, they've been going off books since the end of season 5).**

**And, it should be obvious towards the end of this chapter, but I'm trying to go just s twinge darker with this story cause, after all, it's Game of Thrones.**

**Anyway, hope that you all enjoy this! And props to anyone who can guess who appears at the end of this chapter! Oh, and as a last reminded, this story isn't beta'd at the moment! So any and all mistakes are my own!**

**Also, kind of curious to see what you guys think. Do you want me to the perspective like I usually do? Switching between multiple characters each chapter, or would you guys like to see something more in GRR Martin style, one character per chapter? Let me know.**

**Chapter 1:**

In the grass lands of Devon England outside a small village known as Otter St. Catchpole was a small orchard that many would pass by without a second glance. Despite the lingering chill of spring, the blossoms on the tress where still in full bloom, painting the trees with a bright vibrant coloring and dispensing a slight sweet fragrance into the air. Yet neither brought even the smallest amount of comfort to the young woman who was kneeling just beyond the reach of the trees. Tears streamed down her freckled face as she sat and stared blankly down at the ground at the eight small graves aligned before her.

"It's all gone to bloody fucking hell mum…dad." Ginny Weasley, youngest and only girl of the Weasley family, managed to choke out from in-between the flow of tears coming from her eyes.

The Battle of Hogwarts, as it'd now become famously known, was in short…a bloodbath. Which, now that she thought about it, that shouldn't have been a surprised or unexpected. Afterall, what were a few hundred school age children supposed to do against experienced dark magic users that were more than twice their age and had no qualms about using the darkest of magic to inflict the greatest amount of pain and suffering upon their victims? Dumbledore, who'd faked his death at the hands of Severus Snape the year prior, had been no help what-so-ever despite arriving amid the battle and momentarily bringing a caseation to the fighting due to his unexpected arrival.

But the caseation only last for the briefest of moments before the Death Eaters turned their attention towards to elderly, and arguably, most powerful wizard on the British Isles. But instead of casting to kill, as Flitwick and McGonagall had been doing. No, instead the old coot started slinging stunning and binding spells at the Death Eaters, which where then promptly reversed by their fellow Death Eaters. And then, during the battle, all the Death Eaters simply left Hogwarts. Before the confusion of their withdrawal could set in fully, Voldemort's voice echoed throughout the castle. He offered all of them the chance to live…if Harry surrender himself to the Death Eaters before the sun rose.

Naturally, with half of the school age children and two-out-of-three adults who'd come to defend the school dead, including both of Ginny's parents, no one in the school bought it. But before Ginny could find her 'ex'-boyfriend, he disappeared. Along with Dumbledore. No one could find them anywhere.

Despite her grief, she scoured the castle from top to bottom trying desperately to prevent the one person who meant more to her than life itself from doing something incredibly stupid. But then dawn came. And with them the Death Eaters. With a crying Hagrid carrying a limp Harry in his arms.

Ginny didn't even remember running into the courtyard, nor did she remember who it was who stopped her. But before she could get even halfway towards Harry, she was tackled to the ground and held there by a pair of strong arms. Voldemort then proceeded to give some bullshit speech that Ginny didn't bother paying attention. Her focus solely and only on the still form of Harry. And then something truly unexpected happened…Harry rolled out of Hagrid's arms and fired a spell point blank into Voldemort's back. Whether from shock, or orders from their leader, not a soul moved in the courtyard moved as a bubble appeared around Harry and the greatest dark wizard since Morgana, separating the two of them off from everyone else.

Whatever was said between the two didn't pass beyond the sphere keeping them sealed away. But whatever it was, Ginny couldn't help but smile as she saw Voldemort's face turn from confusion to rage as Harry spoke. Then with a flick of his wrist and snarl on his face, Voldemort launched a killing curse at Harry. To which Harry simply raised his hand and stopped with his open palm. The moment the spell touched his skin, a blinding light exploded throughout the courtyard, making every divert their gaze for a second. When her vision finally returned, she gasped as she saw Harry standing with what was once Voldemort's wand in hand. And Voldemort, the greatest dark wizard in millennia, was on the ground curled into a ball.

Ginny, along with everyone else, watched on in awe as Harry calmly walked up to the dark wizard. His face a complete mask as he stared down at the murderer of his parents and countless others. And then, with only a flick of Harry's wrist, Voldemort's head twisted around completely. Leaving the greatest scourge of wizards and muggles dead as door knob.

Immediately upon the death of their Master, all the Death Eaters and those who supported him fled like the cowards they were. A cheer went up throughout the crowd as everyone celebrated their victory. But Ginny didn't give two shites about it, she had only one goal in mind. And that was Harry and getting to him. A task that proved impossible however as the barrier that isolated Harry and Voldemort from the rest of them didn't disappeared. Then Dumbledore was there, appearing with a smile on his face as he walked up towards harry and the barrier. He congratulated Harry, but then all but demanded that Harry turn over the wand in his hand. The wand that'd been taken from his fake grave by Voldemort.

Harry stared at the old man, and then down at the wand in his hand. Something flashed through Harry's eyes at that moment. His eyes fading for a moment before snapping back into focus and glaring at the old Headmaster. Dumbledore, and just about everyone else blinked dumbly at his refusal. Dumbledore than went on to say that he could not allow Harry to leave unless he surrendered the wand. That it was too dangerous to leave in Harry's hands. Instead of complying however, Harry turned towards her. Their eyes met, and Ginny could almost feel like Harry was trying to say everything he could to her with one look. His lips moved briefly, a message meant only for her. '_I'm sorry…wait for me…please.'_

And then the barrier shattered and Harry, the twice over savior of the wizarding world, disappeared.

The aftermath of the battle was when everything truly started to go downhill. On top of losing both of her parents Ginny also nearly all of her remaining family. Bill and Fleur were found back to back in the astronomy tower, a spike piercing both and holding them together. What was left of Charlie was found in the dungeons. The body of her brother Fred was being cradled by George as the last remaining twin had tears falling freely down his face. And Ron and Hermione…they were both lost when the Chamber of Secrets had collapsed with the both still inside. In a single night, Ginny had been robbed of most of her family, one of her best friends and the love of her life.

The weeks after the battle passed in a haze. There seemed to be a never-ending stream of funerals and award ceremonies. Her parents were honored and buried. Her brothers were honored and buried. Her friends were honored and buried. And through it all, Ginny stood alone. No family to lean on. No Harry to support her. Then, once the funerals were finally done, Dumbledore dropped the next bombshell on the wizarding world. Harry, their hero and savior was declared a national threat and orders were sent out by the Chief Warlock and backed by the new Minister of Magic that he was to be seized on sight and brought into the Ministry. As if that wasn't bad enough, all of those who supported Voldemort, save for those who'd escaped Azkaban, were given a blanket pardon for everything that'd happened during the war.

Life only seemed to get worse for Ginny after that. Percy, as the oldest living male Weasley, took over as head of house. And he seemed to fall right back into his arse kissing ways. He followed Dumbledore like a lost puppy, agreeing with him on everything and arguing with Ginny that they should forgive and forget what the purebloods who'd sided with Voldemort during the war had done. George was unfortunately no help either. Her brother sunk into a deep depression with the loss of his twin. The business that he and Fred set up went downhill and eventually collapsed. But still, her brother did nothing but stare out blankly into the world. It got so bad, that eventually Percy had sent him to St. Murgos, where he was admitted into their long-term psychiatric ward and had been there ever since.

And then, just because things weren't bad enough, her 'faithful brother', had dropped the latest bombshell on her. To establish better ties with the purebloods of the wizarding world, Percy had used some archaic rule that'd long been forgotten to use his position as Head of House to betroth her to Theodore Nott with a blood magical oath. The moment he said the words, she could feel the magic setting in on her. She was trapped.

"God bloody damn it all Harry!" She shouted, falling face first into the ground as everything bubbled out of her and more tears sprung from her eyes. "Why?! Why did you leave us? Why did – did you leave me?!"

"I'm sorry Ginny."

She was hearing things. That was the only explanation for why she could hear his voice. But even as her mind denied what she'd heard, her heart started thundering in her chest as she slowly turned her head. He looked older than she remembered. But there was no mistaking the young man standing behind her. "Harry." She breathed.

Harry Potter, two-time savior of the wizarding world and her own personal savior, stood behind her. His bright green eyes staring down at her with a deep sadness. "Ginny…" He said lowly as if afraid of what might come next.

Ginny wasn't even aware of her own movements. One moment she was kneeling before the graves of her loved ones, and the next she was tackling Harry to the ground with her lips sealed firmly against his own.

But even as she reveled in the feel of being in his arms once again, her elation came crashing down as pain, unlike any other, rushed through her down to her very soul. Rolling off him, Ginny cried out in agony as she curled in on herself, trying to do anything to lessen the pain coursing through every fiber of her being.

"Ginny!" Harry cried, his gentle hands carefully turning her over as the pain began to lessen and her vision began to clear. The uncertain look was back in his eyes, along with a deep fear as well. "Ginny, what-"

"A gift." Ginny groaned, rolling away from him. "From my bastard of a brother. An…unbreakable blood oath betrothal bond."

"What?" Harry gasped, staring down at her uncomprehendingly. "To…who?"

Ginny didn't bother to hide her snort of disgust. "Theodore Nott."

Harry blinked as his uncertainty turned to visible anger. "What? How? Why? Why would he betroth you to that fucking Junior Death Eater?!"

Ginny couldn't help but scoff. "Junior Death Eater? Please, Dumbledore pardoned all of them after the Battle of Hogwarts five years ago Harry."

When Harry didn't respond, she turned towards him. His eyes were once again wide open, and his mouth was hanging slightly open as well. "Five…five years?"

This time, it was Ginny's turn to be confused. "Yeah, it's been five years since you disappeared Harry. How long do you think it's been?"

"A few weeks at most." Harry answered almost immediately, shocking Ginny before he turned towards her and placed his hands in hers. "Ginny, please. Tell me everything. Everything that has happened over the past few years."

So, she did exactly. Every detail of the hell that'd been her life for the past five years she unloaded onto him. And through it all, he just sat there absorbing each word without saying anything in response. After nearly half an hour she'd finished with the latest bit of information that caused her to seek out he solace of her parent's grave.

It started off barely noticeable. Nothing more than a slight shifting of the wind. But soon Ginny could feel something that was almost pressing down on her. Her eyes widened as she realized just what, or rather who was causing the invisible pressure. Harry…was glowing! "Fuck!" Harry suddenly shouted, making her start with his sudden anger even as he jumped, spun and slashed his arm across his body.

What happened next was, quite simply, unbelievable even to a witch of Ginny's caliber. The air around Harry's arm, distorted as he slashed it across is body before rippling out like a shock wave away from this body. Everything that the shockwave touched…disintegrated as it were nothing more than ash to be scattered on the wind. Tall grass, trees…even the few birds that couldn't get away in time. Everything within twenty-meter radius in front of Harry disintegrated in the face of his anger.

"Fuck." Harry breathed, his back still facing her. "Sorry…I – I'm still having some difficulty control just…just what I've become."

'_What he's become?'_ Ginny asked herself, forcing her heart to slow from its break-neck pace to something resembling normal. "Harry," she said slowly rising to her feet and tentatively reaching out for him. "What…what do you mean by that?"

The moment her hand touched his shoulder she felt his entire body stiffen for a split second before almost melting into her touch. "Ginny." Harry said, turning around to face her and reminding her instantly of that young wide-eyed young boy she saw at Platform 9 ¾ all those years ago. "Do you…do you know about the tale of the Deathly Hallows?"

Ginny cocked her head at that. "The children's tale? I've heard of it…but it's just that Harry. A child's tale. Nothing more. Everyone knows that."

Harry scoffed at her response. "And everyone knew that it was impossible to survive the killing curse as well Ginny. No. The Deathly Hallows are not just a children's tale. They're…much more than anyone imagined."

Before she could ask him what he meant, Harry reached up and touched his shoulder. Upon his touch, a cloak appeared out of nowhere across his shoulders and down his back. "This," he said pointing towards the cloak. "This is the Death Cloak."

Next, he held out his hand, showing a large silver ring with a ruby stone that Ginny swore was not there a second ago. "This is the Resurrection Stone. And this," he paused before pulling out a bone white wand again from seemingly thin air. "This, this is the Elder Wand. Together these three are the Deathly Hallows. United, under one Master. The Master of Death."

Ginny honestly wasn't sure what to make of what Harry was saying. Part of her wanted to scoff and laugh at the thought. The Deathly Hallows and the Master of Death were nothing more than a child's tale. A fantasy. But…then again, to most the world magic was a fantasy. Deciding to put her trust in Harry, Ginny leaned in to take a closer look at each item. "So…you're the Master of Death?"

Nodding, Harry made each of the items disappear one at a time. "I'm 'a' Master of Death, yes."

Blinking at the emphasis, Ginny rocked back on her heels. "So, what does that mean? You're some sort of, super wizard or something like that?"

Harry's lips turned up slightly. "Yeah, something like that, I guess. But that's a gross under simplification. So, why don't I just show you what I mean instead."

Before she could ask what he was going to do, Harry stepped forward and cupped her face in the palms of his hands. Even a few days ago, just the mere thought of Harry doing such an intimate act would've sent her heart racing, but now…because of the damn Oath her brother forced on her, she felt her feelings for Harry muted. But then something strange happened. She, she could almost feel Harry's magic reach within her. She gasped as his magic almost seemed to grab hold of what was keeping her feelings muted. And then it…snapped. A like a damn breaking her feelings flooded through her again. Her wants and desired returning with such vengeance that she was pretty sure she would need to change her unmentionables immediately.

"Harry," she gasped, reveling in the feel of his hands on her face. "What…what did you-"

"I broke the betrothal contract." Harry said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Ginny's eyes, which had been slowly closing due to the pleasure coursing through her, snapped open and met Harry's vibrant green eyes. "That's…impossible!"

"For a 'normal' wizard, yes." Harry nodded, his hands still not leaving her. "But I'm no longer a normal wizard Ginny. I'm the Master of Death."

Ginny couldn't have stopped her next movements even if she wanted too. One moment she was standing in front of Harry, and the next she was pressed flush against him, her hands waving through his hair as her lips attacked his. Harry, to his credit, was only momentarily put off balance before he managed to figure things out and began returning the favor with a vigor equal to her own. Eventually, the need for air overrode her desire and she was forced to pull herself away from Harry.

"Harry," she gasped, feeling no small amount of pride at listening to the object of her affection having trouble catching his breath as well. "You, we, need to go somewhere. Now. Or my parent's will be seeing more than they ought too."

Harry didn't need telling twice. His arms wrapped tightly around her, and then there was the feeling of a pull at her naval as he apparated the two of them away. She didn't even bother to look around to where he'd brought her. The lighting was dim, but it was obviously a bedroom of some sort judging by the huge and inviting bed in the center of the room. Not that Ginny really cared, not at that moment anyway. The moment she was able to reorient herself, she renewed her attack on Harry. Her hands moving from his hair down to his neck then his shoulders. She wasn't sure who began pulling at who's clothing first, but soon the both were down to nothing and in the bed. Ginny wasn't sure just what the hell had happened to Harry in the five years he'd been gone, but whatever it was had done wonders to his body. '_Bloody fucking hell!'_ She gasped as she leaned into Harry's touch even as he trailed his lips across her skin. '_He's built like a fucking Adonis! Whatever the hell happened to him…I'm surely not complaining!'_

For the next few hours, or it might've been days, the two did things that Ginny had only ever fantasized about. And some things she didn't even know where possible! But no matter what the two of them did, or how much Harry spent, he was always ready to go for more. And for that matter, so was she! But eventually nature caught up to the two of them as pure exhaustion set in and they were forced to bring their pleasant activities to halt.

"Harry," Ginny said quietly as she laid her head against Harry's shoulder, her fingers tracing imaginary designs across his bare chest. "There's something that you said that's been bothering me."

"What is it luv? After all of this…I doubt we have any more secrets between one another."

Picking her head up, a feat which was much harder than it should've been, Ginny met Harry's eyes. "Back at the cemetery…you said you were 'a' Master of Death. What do you mean by that?"

Giving out a low sigh, Harry sat up in bed, helping her up with him. Once the two were seated, Harry ran his hand across the sheets making the three Hallows appear on the bed. "The story of the three brothers is, to be honest, not entirely true." Harry said as he stared down at the items on the bed. "These relics are old. Far older than anyone could ever imagine. Older than even Earth or whatever deity it was that created us. Perhaps it was a deity of death that gifted them unto the mortal realm, but it was not Death who gave them to the three brothers. It was the previous Master of Death."

Pausing, Harry picked up the Elder Wand. Holding it away from them, Ginny watched as Harry's eyes narrowed in on the object. The wood seemed to ripple then extend. And within a split second, where there was once a wand there was now a sword. A second later a staff. And another second later and it was back to its wand self. "The items can be adjusted to the Master of Death's will. That is why they weren't really recorded in history, because they have no true shape beyond their intended purpose. And as for what I said when I said I'm 'a' Master of Death. Well, I'm not the first. Nor the second. Or even the fiftieth Master of Death. And within these items are echoes of all the previous Master's of Death. And now that I'm one with them, I can call upon their essences and learn from them."

Ginny's eyes widened at the insinuation. "That's what you've been doing for the past five years!" Ginny exclaimed, connecting the dots. "You were learning millennia's worth of magic!"

"Yes." Harry nodded. "Although like I said, to me it only felt like a few weeks. A last little fuck you from the previous Master of Death."

Ginny's brow furrowed. "The last Master of Death? You mean, the one who gave the Hallows to the three brothers?"

"Yeah." Harry nodded, making the three objects disappeared in the aether once more. "He was, and still is I guess, an utterly selfish bastard. He wanted to be the greatest and last Master of Death. He wanted to be Death itself. But not even the Master of Death, as powerful as we are, are immune to Death or it's icy grasp. When he knew his time was coming, instead of finding a successor like the previous Master of Death had, he scattered the Hallows in the hopes that they would never again be reunited. Making him the Last Master of Death."

"Well," Ginny smirked, curling up to Harry. "He failed."

"Yeah, he did." Harry whispered into her hair as his hand gently messaged her back.

But even as the two sat their enjoying each other's presence, Ginny could tell there was something else weighing down on Harry. "There's more you have to say, isn't there Harry?"

Harry's hand stilled on her back. "I never could get anything past you, could I?"

"No." Ginny said, leaning back. "Now spill. What else is there that you haven't told me?"

Sighing, Harry closed his eyes and turned his head away from her. "The power of the Master of Death…to put it simply it's too much for one single mortal being to hold. Even now I must constantly keep holding myself back or the power I've obtained would fracture my very being. So, to not have to constantly keep a tight rein on themselves, the previous Masters of Death figured an ingenious solution. They distributed a portion of their power to four individuals who then became bound to the Master of Death. You've probably heard of the four who were bound to the last Master of Death. He named them War, Famine, Pestilence and Death."

Ginny's eyes widened. While not an expert on muggle history or religion, everyone knew of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. "So, what are you saying? You need to find your own Four Horsemen?"

"They don't have to be like the previous ones." Harry said quickly. "Like I said, the previous Master of Death was an asshole. He might have started out good, but the power of the Hallows corrupted him and with his corruption so too were his Horsemen corrupted. But, yes. In the end I need to find Four Horsemen if you will. Otherwise I'll I have to live the rest of my life constantly holding myself back. And in the end, more than likely kill myself from the strain of doing so."

Ginny didn't even have to think of what she was going to say next. Leaning into Harry, she gently pressed her lips against his. "Well…you've already found one luv."

Harry's eyes snapped open and turned to her. "Ginny…do you have any idea what your saying? You'll be bound to me for eternity. If I die, you die. If I go dark, then so will you. And for so long as I live, so shall you. You'll outlive everyone you love."

Rolling her eyes, Ginny had to resist the urge to smack Harry upside the head. "Harry, everyone I love save for you is dead. And incase you haven't noticed yet you bloody idiot…I'd follow you to hell itself. If you need Four Horsemen Harry…then I gladly offer myself to you."

Opening his eyes, Harry turned his head just enough to meet her eyes. "Ginny, are you certain about this? Once we go down this road, there is no coming back."

Again, she had to resist the urge to smack the noble git. "Harry, we're already way past the point of no return luv. Now, do whatever it is you have to do Harry."

Ginny wasn't quite sure what she was expecting when she said those words. Some grand ritual or something, but instead Harry simply stared at her. And then it happened. For no reason it felt like she'd taken a bludger to the gut as she curled in on herself. Her mind went blank as pain unlike any she'd ever felt before coursed through her. She could vaguely hear someone screaming, and after an eternity her pain addled mind realized that she was the one screaming in agony. Then after a minute, or a second, or it might've even been days the pain suddenly ceased.

Blinking away the tears in her eyes, Ginny slowly sat up. But strangely, she felt no pain. In fact, she'd never felt better in her entire life! Picking herself up fully, she turned to Harry. "Harry…what the bloody hell just happened!?"

Harry didn't say anything as he stared at her. Flicking his wrist off to the side, Harry wandlessly conjured up a full-length mirror. "See for yourself."

Getting out of bed, and nearly stumbling over her own two feet in the process, Ginny awkwardly made her way over to the mirror. "What the bloody fucking hell!" Ginny exclaimed as she stared at the stranger in the mirror.

Ginny Weasley, while not overly small, was petite and rather skinny. The woman staring back in the mirror however had at least five more centimeters on Ginny. Had more womanly curves than her and definitely had more muscle mass. Not only that, but her hair was…'_Bloody fucking hell! Are those…small wisps of fire leaving my hair! What the bloody fuck!'_

But even as Ginny marveled at her new physical appearance, she could feel that something else was off as well. Her magic was almost bursting! Turning away from the mirror, she focused on the small nightstand next to the bed. She'd read about the theory of wandless magic before, but few could ever even dream of performing it. Focusing on what she wanted, Ginny waved her hand at the nightstand. Immediately the wooden structure transfigured itself into a small wooden horse that began prancing around the room. "Holy fucking, what the fuck, did you fuck, fucking fuck…holy fuck!"

On the bed, Harry started chuckling. "Well…if nothing else you surely showed the diversity of that word luv."

Turning back to him, Ginny felt a familiar feeling swell within her. "Cheeky bastard." She murmured before she pounced, literally pounced, across the room only to land on top of him. But instead of catching him by surprise, he caught her completely off guard when he caught her midair, flipped her around, and in a blink of an eye had her pinned to the bed underneath him. '_Fucking Morgana's tits!'_ Ginny groaned as Harry attacked her breast even as she fought uselessly against him. '_I can tell I'm stronger now than I was…so…fuck! Just how much was he…holy fuck…holding back?!'_

Several hours later, the two now thoroughly satisfied lovers resumed their peaceful position with Harry on his back and Ginny laying sprawled out across his chest. Only this time, Ginny was exercising her new-found powers by creating a small wisp of fire and having it dance around her fingers. "So…am I your Horseman now?"

"Yes," Harry confirmed as he tightened his hold on her. "Although I really don't want anything to do with the last Master of Death. So…how about my Angel?"

Smiling, Ginny let the flame die. "Your Angel of War, or Bravery. I like that." Snuggling into him, Ginny paused. "Harry, what are we going to do now?"

"Now? Well…seeing as how everything has officially gone to hell and no progress has been made. I'd say its time we take a stand for bring about the change that is so desperately needed for our worlds continued survival."

Licking her lips, she lifted her head and met his eyes. "People are going to die, aren't they?"

"More than likely." Harry nodded somewhat sadly. "Ideally no would die. But sometimes, in order to bring about true change, the old must be cut away to make room for the new."

Surprisingly, Ginny found she didn't seem to care in the slightest that people were going to die, or even that she was more than likely going to be one of the ones doing the killing. All she cared about was brining about the change that Harry wanted. "You're going to need more than just me in order to do this Harry." Ginny said, sitting up. "Have you thought of who else to add to your, 'Angels'?"

"No." Harry answered, rubbing at her bare thigh. "I take it you have some ideas about who to ask?"

Ginny felt her lip curl upwards. "Oh yes. And trust me Harry, they want change just as much as you. Change…and revenge."

* * *

Sitting at the large ornate table in the main dinning hall of Malfoy Manner, Narcissa Malfoy idle sipped at her wine as she carefully observed those around her. Each witch or wizard that dinned with them that even were, of course, of pureblooded ancestry. And the fact that they were all former followers of the Dark Lord was a mere detail. In the wake of the Dark Lords defeat her husband had managed to keep all of them out of Azkaban. An action which nearly brought the Malfoy's to bankruptcy, as their vaults were nearly devoid of all gold and they even had to sell off all their house elves. And the only reason why that was even possible was because so many halfbloods and mudbloods had died during the war and the Hero of the War, Harry Potter, was missing there were few to challenge their release. They didn't even need to claim the Imperius Charm this time around.

'_The old fool is really going senile. Letting us all go with nothing more than a slap on the wrist and a stern warning of 'don't do this again'.'_ Narcissa thought with a smile as she watched her son idly chat with his Hogwarts fling and now betroth Pansy. Not the match she wanted. But with the death of Astoria Greengrass and the disappearance of Daphne, Pansy was the next best breeding stock available to her son.

Of course, not everything had gone smoothly after the war. For some reason, Draco was still barred from claiming the title of Head of the Black Family. Something that should've been easy considering Andromeda and her daughter Nypmhadora were dead. Draco was the last living direct Black descendent. '_Sirius must've done something.'_ Narcissa thought with a grimace as she set her wine down. '_But how? He didn't directly disinherit Draco. That would've required him going to the Ministry, which would've resulted in his immediate execution. No…he must've named a new Heir to the Black family. And I know exactly who he would've named. The only one who had a legal claim to the title besides Draco. Harry Potter.'_

But even now, after five years of him being missing, the blasted goblins refused to hand the Lordship over to her son. They said that Harry was still alive and therefore still the Lord of House Black. And until that changed, her son wouldn't be able to claim Lordship.

Hearing the chiming of a glass next to her, Narcissa forced herself out of her musing as her husband rose to his feet. "My friends, it is an honor to have you all gathered together once again." Lucius began, picking up his glass and taking a step away from his seat. "Despite our recent set back…our cause is still strong. In fact, I think it might even be stronger now that we are once again together than ever before."

A heavy snort came from down the table, making everyone turn to see who'd made the interruption. "Stronger than ever before?" Lord Nott laughed. "How can you say that? Our Lord is dead. And my son…the healers still don't know what is wrong with him! I fail to see how we are stronger now than before Lucius!"

Setting her wine down, Narcissa watched as her husband approached Nott. "You have my condolences for your son." Lucius said, with almost genuine regret in his voice. "But yes, we are stronger now. Voldemort was powerful yes. And he was a great figurehead to our noble cause. But tell me, how many purebloods died at his hands? The Dark Lord was a weapon, that was all. A loose cannon, as the muggles like to say. But we, we are the daggers in the dark that will shape the wizarding world into what it should be. A utopia, where the halfbloods, mudbloods muggles know their proper place. Beneath us."

"And how do you expect us to that Malfoy?" the Dowager Zabini asked. "Despite getting off with supporting the Dark Lord, all of us are now being watched carefully."

"I'm not saying that change will come immediately." Her husband continued. "But it will come. So we need to wait a decade or two. What does it matter? All of us have plenty of time left. We play the 'lights' game for now. We allow them to think they've won. And in time, we slowly re-introducing our changes back into the system. And in time, we will be back where we belong. My friends," Lucius paused his speech to raise his glass. "To the future!"

"To the future!" Narcissa intoned with everyone else at the table as they all lifted their glasses.

But as the wine touched Narcissa's lips, a low steady clap began to echo throughout the room. Lowering her glass, she turned her head towards the main stairway that led out of the dinning hall. Her brow furrowed as she watched a single cloaked and hooded figure make their way up the stairs, slowly clapping with each step they took. As everyone else began to stare at the new individual, Narcissa was rapidly going through the guest list in her head. '_Everyone is here! How, who is this? But more importantly…how the bloody hell did they get past the wards?!'_

"Nice speech Lucy." The figure said in a voice that made the hairs on the back of Narcissa's neck stand on end. It was a voice she recognized…but prayed she would never hear again. '_Please…'_ Narcissa begged. '_Don't let it be him! Anyone but him!'_

But as the figured climbed the final stair and entered the light, Narcissa felt her stomach plummet as the War Hero himself, Harry Potter, made his way into the room as if he owned the place. "I must say Lucy, I'm disappointed." Potter chuckled humorlessly as he walked towards the table. "You went through all this trouble to invite all these prominent families…and yet I wasn't invited? If I didn't know you better Lucy, I would be insulted at being overlooked. But then again, you always did overlook and underestimate me in the past. I wonder, did you ever tell anyone the story about how a twelve-year-old boy tricked you into setting your house elf free?"

Across the table, she could see her son about to stand, but a subtle shake of her head made him sit back down. '_Potter somehow managed to get past our wards without us knowing…which means he's more than likely not alone. Or at the very least he has some sort of plan. No one is stupid enough to simply walk into the snake's den and start insulting everyone present without some sort of plan.'_

"Potter." Lucius sneered as he stared at the vanquisher of the Dark Lord. "You are not welcome here."

Potter merely tilted his head to the side. "Really? Why? I see so many prominent families here. Malfoy, Zabini, Carrow, Parkenson and Nott. Speaking of which Nott, how's you're so doing? Have they managed to realign his brain back into any sense of working order? Not that there was much there to begin with of course."

"How dare you Potter!" Lord Nott screamed, rising to his feet and pulling his wand. Only, it wasn't a wand. And Narcissa and the rest of those at the table were left to stare completely dumbfounded as Nott waved a banana at the Boy-Who-Lived.

"Now now Lord Nott." Potter chuckled. "That wasn't very nice. Now be a good little obedient doggy and sit down before I put you done."

"Nott," Lucius said, still facing off against Potter. "Sit down."

Narcissa had to swallow the lump in her throat as she watched Nott slowly sit down, all the while staring daggers at Potter. '_Lucius is right you fool.'_ Narcissa thought, her mind running fast to try and figure a way out of this situation. '_Potter is not a complete idiot. He wouldn't have come here without a plan of some sort. And judging by the fact that he managed to get past our wards and transfigure Notts wand without using his own…he obviously wasn't idle during his disappearance.'_

"Good boy." Potter mocked. Before refocusing on her husband. "Now, as I was saying Lucy, where was my invitation? After all, I'm Lord House Potter and Black. Two of the four Ancient and Noble houses. And I don't see Greengrass or Bones here either? Ignoring all Four Ancient and Noble House Lucy? For shame."

Lucius still held his ground. "What do you want Potter? This is a private gathering."

"Oh, I can see that." Potter nodded looking around the room. "And believe me, I honestly don't want anything to do with the lot of you. But once I heard you were having this little get-together, I realized it was the perfect opportunity to see if you all still had your heads firmly up your asses. Unfortunately, not only I was right on that assumption, it seems to me like you're all now trying to get your shoulders up there as well."

"To hell with you Potter!" Lucius shouted his wand snapping into his hand. "_Avada Kedavra!"_

The sickly-green spell leapt forth out of Lucius's wand and struck Potter dead center in the chest. And for a moment, Narcissa had hope that it was over. But then, to hers and everyone else's shock, Potter merely brushed off his chest where the spell had struck him. "That didn't work for your Master Lucius. So why the ever-loving fuck did you think it would work for you, hmm?" Potter took a step towards her husband, which in turned made Lucius take a step back. "You purebloods are all alike. Too caught up in the past to see the future. And so reliant on magic, that you don't realize that sometimes you need to get your hands dirty to get something done. Here, let me give you an example."

If Narcissa had blinked, she would've missed what happened next. But one moment Potter was advancing on her husband and the next he'd crossed the ten meters separating them and…had his hand lodged completely in her husband's throat. Potter's arm clenched as a wet ripping sound echoed throughout the room. And then, her husband was falling backwards with Potter standing above him. Her husband's bloody tongue clenched in Potter's fist. "Well, that ought to shut him up for good."

The second Lucius's body hit the floor, pandemonium spread through the dinning hall like wildfire. Witches and wizards started shouting spells. Furniture went everywhere and the windows into the hall started shattering. Narcissa didn't care for any of it though. Instead of joining the fight, she instead grabbed hold of Draco, who in turn grabbed Pansy, and together the three of them ran from the hall.

"Mother!" Draco shouted as she half led, half pulled her son through the house. "What are we doing? We need to kill that bast-"

"Use your head Draco!" Narcissa shouted rounding on her son even as screams of death came from the room they'd left behind. "Potter walked through our wards without us even knowing! Took a killing curse to the chest and brushed it off! Then ripped your father's tongue out through his throat with his bare hand! This is not a fight we can win son. Our only goal now is survival! Do you understand!"

But she never heard the answer as the temperature in the hall plummeted so fast that the glass lanterns shattered as the magical flames within died, casting the three of them into total darkness. Grabbing her wand, Narcissa forced Draco and Pansy behind her as she heard steady footfalls approaching them from the direction they'd been heading. Squinting her eyes, she tried and failed to peer into the darkness before them. "Cover your eyes Draco, Pansy." She said lowly as she held her wand aloft. "_Lumos maxima!"_

The bright light filled the hall in front of her, revealing an indistinguishable figure in what almost looked like crystalline white armor complete with a face plate walking towards them. As the light began to fade, Narcissa trained her wand on the slowly approaching figure. "_Avada Ked-" _Her spell ended mid incantation as her wand instantaneously froze and snapped clean in half.

"How pathetic Narcissa." The figure spoke in a feminine voice that was oddly familiar to her.

Then the figure was on them. Narcissa felt something hard hit the back of her head as the floor suddenly rushed up to meet her. As darkness claimed her vision, she could just barely make out the sounds of her son and future daughter in-law crying out.

"Wakey wakey Narcissa."

Moaning at the pain in her head, Narcissa blinked as she tried to open her eyes. She was back in the dining hall, and she was sitting down at one end of the grand table that dominated the room. And opposite of her, sitting as if he owned the place, was none other than Harry Potter himself.

Reflexively, she tried to rise, but immediately found she couldn't move. Looking down at her arm, her horror grew as she saw the reason why. Sections of the chair she was sitting upon had been…warped and were now wrapped around her arms, legs and waist. Effectively keeping her in place. Giving the room a quick glance, she had to fight down the bile that threatened to leave her. All around the room were witches and wizards. Dead. Some were killed so brutally that even the Dark Lord would've baulked. But others merely seemed to have collapsed where they stood without a mark on them.

Forcing her eyes off the carnage, she refocused on Potter. Only now that she truly looked, he wasn't alone. Standing just behind him were four figures encased in red, a dark red almost brown, yellow and white crystallin armor. Each of whom had their faces covered with a crystal mask to obscure their identity. Hearing the clink of silverware, Narcissa nearly did a double take. Potter was…delicately cutting into the meal on the plate before him. The meal that was meant for one of the many guests that now laid dead around them. Spearing a small piece of meat onto the end of his fork, Potter took a bite and savored the taste before nodding. "Hmm. This is quite good. Did you cook this? You don't have any house elves to serve you any more so you must have. Or did you have it catered? If so, who did you go through?"

Behind him, one of the figures, the one in red, shook their head. "Merlin Harry, laying it on a bit thick there aren't you?"

Narcissa didn't say or do anything as Harry nodded. "You're probably right." Harry conceded as he picked up one of the non-broken wine glasses and drained its contents. "But I'm right as well. This food is good. Why don't you all join us."

The four figures behind Harry almost seemed to, shimmer as the crystal armor surrounding each one rescinded back up towards their head and…into their hair. By the time the armor was gone, Narcissa could only stare wide-eyed at the four young women before her. The one with red armor was none other than Ginevra Weasley. The one in yellow was Luna Lovegood. The one in reddish-brown was Susan Bones. And lastly, the one in the blue armor, the one that'd knocked her unconscious and had done only Morgana knew what to her son was Daphne Greengrass.

As one, the four women moved out from behind Harry and each took a seat near the boy's end of the table. "Oh yes," Harry remarked offhandedly as the four sat down and started in on their food. "I forgot. Kind of hard to eat like that isn't it Narcissa, hopefully this will make it easier."

With nothing more than a twitch of his finger, the transfigured parts of the chair that'd been wrapped around her arms came alive and withdrew, allowing her to move her arms freely. Instead of eating however, Narcissa just stared at the young man in what she hoped was a defiant manner. "Where's my son? And Pansy. What have you done with them?"

Wiping his mouth with a napkin, Harry met her gaze. "Dead."

Narcissa felt her heart shatter at the offhanded way he made the comment. "I saved your life back at the Battle of Hogwarts!" She shouted, trying to rise only for the bindings from the chair to become tighter.

"You saved him out of self-preservation." Ginevra said quickly as she delicately picked at her meal. "You realized that Voldemort was killing off purebloods left and right and new that you, your son and your husband were next on his list as you'd all pretty much outgrown your usefulness. Harry was the best chance there was to kill the Dark Lord. You didn't save him out of some new-found light. You saved him purely because you wanted him to kill Voldemort, therefore sparing your own life."

"But Narcissa is right." Harry conceded. "Whether from self-preservation or not, she did save my life that day by lying to ol'snake face. Which is honestly the only reason she's still alive right now."

Swallowing past the lump in her throat, Narcissa forced herself to be calm. "And my son?"

Instead of answering, Harry tapped the glass table top before flicking his finger across it. Next to her plate an image appeared in the glass. An image of a young pretty girl and two elders who were more than likely her parents. "It's amazing what you can find if you look into non-magical unsolved cases." Harry said, nodding towards the pictured. "That girl was tortured and raped repeatedly. As was the mother. The father was brutalized so thoroughly that the only way they could identify the body was by the serial number of an artificial knee joint. The non-magical police couldn't solve the case, but the Auror's did investigate. The case was buried of course, and the investigating office retired the next day to a very comfortable beach house in the Caribbean. But nothing stays buried. We found the investigation report. And do you know who was found to be responsible for the crime?"

Narcissa didn't for him to tell her, she already knew. She kept a close eye on her house's finances. And when a huge withdrawal was made a few years back, she assumed that it was because her husband was back to his old habits. But she hadn't pieced together that he'd managed to drag her son down with him this time. "And Pansy?"

"That bitch got what she deserved." Daphne said sharply. "She knew of your plans to bind Astoria and Draco. So, during the battle of Hogwarts while everyone else was distracted she tracked my sister down. Cornered her and slit her throat before throwing her off the castle walls."

Closing her eyes, Narcissa fought against the growing swell of dread within her as she tried to keep her voice steady. "Whatever you want from me Potter, you won't get it. So you might as well kill me know."

Setting his glass down, Potter got up from his seat. "Do you know what your sin is Narcissa?"

"Vanity." Narcissa shot back quickly as she raised her chin in what she hoped was a defiant manner.

Chuckling, the boy made his way towards her. "No. Although good guess. No. Your true sin Narcissa is betrayal. Your family loved you. I'm not taking about your ferret son and idiot husband. I'm talking about Andromeda. Nymphadora. Sirius. Regulus. They all loved you dearly. Each of them stood against the Dark Lord in one way or another. Yet you, you turned your back and betrayed all of them. And for what? Power? Wealth? Someone who thought of you as nothing more than a broodmare? A sniveling little brat that cared more for his father's opinion than yours? You helped bring about the death of everyone who ever truly loved you, for this." He said, accenting his statement by waving his hand around him the manner. "And you did it without even batting an eye. Betrayal, Narcissa Malfoy, is your sin."

Drawing even with her, Harry drew his wand and held the point against her bare cleavage just above her heart. "But don't worry, I'm not going to kill you. In fact, I'm going to give you what you always wanted. This place. It's money and it's power for all eternity."

A burning sensation shot through her chest reaching down into her very soul. But before she could react, the wand left her skin, leaving an intricate rune burned into her flesh. "Wha – what did you do?"

"Gave you what you wanted." Harry answered. "I've bound you to this house. For eternity. You'll never be able to go beyond the front door. Even as your body ages and dies, your spirit will remain here within these walls. And I must wonder…with how powerful the wards are with this house…how long will it take for a non-Malfoy to find you so you might have company? Ladies, I think it is time for us to depart."

It was with a growing sense of horror that Narcissa realized the fate Potter had cursed her with. The house was warded to make it Un-plottable and Un-noticeable to both magicals and muggles. The floo network was not connected to this house. The wards prevented anyone who wasn't a Malfoy from finding the house unless they were expressly allowed in by a Malfoy and seeing as how she couldn't pass beyond the front door, she wouldn't be able to walk to the boundary line to allow someone entry. And, they'd just sold off the rest of their house elves as well. In short, she was trapped here in this house with no means of escape or rescue with the only the corpses of her friends, husband and son for company. For eternity.

By the time the chair released her, Potter and the girls were already down the stairs and near the entrance to the manner. Bolting out of her seat, she made a mad dash for the entrance. Just as she reached the foyer, she could see Potter and the four girls walking out onto the front lawn. As she came upon the threshold of the manner however, she slammed into something invisible that threw her back almost all the way to the stairs.

"Please!" Narcissa shouted, tears streaming down her face as she crawled towards the entrance and reached for Harry and the others. All sense of pride gone from her being as she truly begged. "Please…don't leave me like this! Have mercy! Please!"

Potter stopped and turned around to face her. "This is mercy Narcissa. And it's far more than you deserve." And with that Potter flicked his wrist and the doors to the manner slammed shut, sealing Narcissa inside.

* * *

With a barely a sound, five figures apparated into existence in the middle of an empty field as the sun slowly set behind them. In front of the five was the mysterious Stonehenge. A relic of the past that'd been studied for untold years by both non-magicals and magicals. Stepping forward from the others, Harry Potter, the Master of Death, stared at the ancient stone structured as his Angels spread out behind him. "So," Ginny said staring straight ahead at the relic. "Trap?"

"Trap." Harry nodded.

It'd been thirty years since Harry had taken up the mantel as 'Master of Death'. But despite the time that'd lapsed, neither Harry nor his Angels looked a day over twenty. And true to his prediction, it wasn't long until the non-magical world learned of the existence of the magical. Luckily however, they'd managed to keep the knowledge of a secret magical society confined to only the United Nations and the large governments. But that time was slowly ending as new technology made it easier and easier to identify the magical communities despite their many safeguards. Harry had been working non-stop for the past thirty years trying to get the magical world to conform to the idea that one day they would have to live side by side with the non-magicals.

And while at first Harry had managed to gather many to his cause, his support quickly withered and died as the magicals began to realize just what sort of change he wanted to make. Soon enough, all support within the magical world was gone. Replaced by two growing factions. One group believed in further isolation. While the other believed in the complete subjugation of the non-magicals. And the non-magical world wasn't any better. They warred with each other over the slightest little thing, caring nothing for the fellow man even as their leaders bellowed that they did. And their prejudice against the magical world, fueled by actions taken during the medieval era, didn't make matters any better. It didn't take a genius to realize just what was about to happen.

"So. Now what?" Susan Bones asked staring at the stone structure in the dying light.

"We spring the trap of course." Luna Lovegood answered with an airy smile. "After all, they did go through a lot of trouble to set all of this up for us. I would be a shame for it to just simply go to waste. And besides, it's not like we can just leave this alone."

Luna was right. Like usual. The whole reason why the five of them were here was because of the unusual magical discharge that was suddenly coming from the ruins. Many had theorized over the years about the true purpose of Stonehenge. But in the end the most prevalent theory was that Stonehenge was a doorway. Although a doorway to what no one could say. The afterlife? Another world? Hell itself. Harry had called upon the previous Master's of Death to try and ascertain just what the ruins were for. And it was one that lived during the time of the Ancient Egyptians that gave him the greatest clue as to it's purpose. A purpose that led Harry and the others here now.

Walking forward at a brisk pace with his Angels following only a moment later, Harry passed beyond the outlining stones and into the inner ring of the monument. The moment the last of them passed the stones, Harry felt a magical barrier slam home around them. None of them even flinched as Harry tilted his head and stared across the structure. "You're all fairly good at hiding yourselves. But the game is over. Come out now."

Slowly a wand appeared in thin air, followed by the hand and arm that was attached to said wand. Soon enough, a young boy was revealed as the invisibility cloak he'd been wearing pooled at his feet. Four others soon joined him as they too dropped their invisibility cloaks. As Harry stared at the five, he had to fight the urge to scoff loudly. Luckily, he didn't have to, as Ginny voice his thoughts for him.

"You've got to be bloody fucking kidding me." His first and primary lover groaned. "Five fucking kids? None of you even look like you're out of Hogwarts yet!"

"The senile old fool is at it again." Harry sighed.

"Don't call him that!" The lead boy shouted as he brandished his wand towards Harry. "Albus Dumbledore is the greatest wizard ever born! He's the only wizard you ever feared!"

At the statement, Harry couldn't help but groan. He knew who this boy was now. He'd never bothered with him before because, quite honestly, he never cared. Eighteen years ago, there'd been a prophecy that suddenly appeared in the Ministry that stated a young witch or wizard would born of pureblood parents that'd defied Death itself that would be gifted with the power to end the 'Master of Death'. Of course, it was bogus. Harry knew it with just one glance at the orb. The those who fought for wizard supremacy clung to it like a life raft. And the result, was at arrogant little prick standing before him today.

Shaking his head, Harry stared at the five youngsters gathered before him. "Wrong on several accounts kids. Dumbledore is not the greatest wizard ever born. That could arguably belong to Merlin, but again it's a matter of opinion rather than fact. And as for my fearing him. That couldn't be further from the truth. If anything, I pity the senile old fool who's too stuck in the past to see what is going on around him. Hell, even you four are simply a recycled idea from my own time in Hogwarts. You did know that I too was once prophesized to bring down a Dark Lord right?"

"The difference is I'm not going to fall to the darkness like you did Potter!" The arrogant little shit shouted. "That's right, I know your real name! And I'm not afraid to say it!"

"Good fucking Merlin's cock." Harry mumbled. "Firstly, I never put any sort of Taboo on my name. And I'm only a danger to certain few. Not everyone. And honestly, I never tried to hide who I was. People just didn't seem to care to find out that's all. But in the end, it doesn't matter. Cause I'm not the one who sent you five to your deaths. And before you make the assumption, I'm not the one who will be killing you."

The four standing behind the prophesized one faltered ever so slightly. "What the bloody hell do you mean by that!" A girl to the right of the prophesized one said fearfully.

"Simple." Harry remarked, flicking his hand and making the rune that'd been covered up with a concealing charm appear on each kid face. "Those runes that Dumbledore put on you. They're not some kind of magical buffering or protection rune or whatever bullshit Dumbledore sold you. Those runes mark each of you as blood sacrifices for a magical ritual."

"You're lying!" The prophesized shit shouted. "Come on! Let's take him down now! _Bomb-_"

With but a snap of his fingers, all five wands that'd been pointed at Harry and his Angels were gone. Replaced instead with pieces of fruit. "I swear." Harry chuckled as the five kids dropped the fruit. "That never gets old. Now, you senile piece of shit. Are you actually going to step out into the light or are you just going to keep hiding back there?"

"Your attempts to rile me Harry mean nothing." Dumbledore called out as he stepped out from behind the column he'd been hiding behind, just outside of the barrier that kept Harry, his Angels and the five kids within Stonehenge.

"Professor!" The prophesized one shouted with a look of triumph. "You're here! Ha! You don't stand a chance now Potter!"

Turning to face the old wizard, Harry shook his head at the boy's idiocy. '_Not that I was any better when I was his age.'_ "Hello Albus. Tell me, did you at least do these kids the justice of telling them why you marked them all for death? Or were you just planning on discarding them like yesterday's trash?"

"That's not true!" A young girl that stood side by side with the prophesized one shouted. "Tell them Professor! Tell them how these marks mark us as the ones to bring down the Master of Death!"

But Dumbledore didn't say anything. For several minutes the old coot just stared at the five kids with tears in his eyes. "I am sorry…all of you. Sorrier than you can possibly imagine. Please know, I did not want to do this. But take solace in the fact that your sacrifices will mean that the Master of Death will no longer curse our land."

The confident look on all five kids immediately disappeared, replaced by one of utter fear. "Professor…" the Prophesized one said slowly, taking a step towards the old man. "Please tell me that this is some sort of tr-"

"_Strenuus sanguinem sacrificium."_

As one, the five kids shouted in agony as their runes glowed red. "Professor!" The prophesized one shouted as he fell to the ground and stared withering in pain.

Harry had seen and done a lot in his life. But watching those five kids quickly dissolve into a red ooze that seeped into the ground and knowing there was nothing he could do to prevent it tore at his soul. He was powerful, more powerful than any other magical on the planet. But even he was powerless in the face of some magic. Especially magical nose that one put around their own neck.

As the last of the screams died off, Harry turned and glared hatefully at Dumbledore. "And you call me evil."

Lowering his wand, Dumbledore seemed to truly regret what he'd just done. "I take no pleasure in what happened Harry. But to ensure the greater good and survival of the Magical World, their deaths were necessary. As you will now learn."

All around them the ground shook as Stonehenge seemed to come alive. Runes long since forgotten glowed upon the rocks as the outer perimeter began to rotate slowly. Despite everyone going on around them, neither Harry nor his Angels made a single move to try and break free. "You really are an idiot Dumbledore." Harry sighed as he watched the rotating rocks begin to pick up their pace. "While I truly regret the death of those five, and would've preferred to find another way of doing this, do you think that even for a moment we didn't know what was about to happen here?"

At that, Dumbledore's grandfatherly façade flickered. "What are you talking about?"

Raising his hand, Harry motioned towards the spinning rocks. "We knew that this was some sort of magical teleportation device. Much like the Veil of Death. And just like the Veil, we don't know where it will lead us. But honestly, compared to what is about to befall both the non-magical and magical worlds given their attitudes towards one another, we decided it was far better for us to leave rather stick it out. Which is why we emptied the Potter, Bones, Black, Greengrass and Weasley Vaults before coming here. We plan to make a new life for ourselves, free of the prejudice of this world. So have fun in the hell your about to unleash on yourself Dumbledore. I'd say we'd wish you good fortune in the wars to came, but honestly I would much prefer it if you just up and died."

Dumbledore's response was drowned out by the sound rush of wind that seemed to come up from the very ground as the five were engulfed in a blinding multiple colored light. As a rule, magical travel was unpleasant to say the very least. And whatever this form of magical transportation was, it followed that rule. Every fiber of Harry's being felt like it was being pulled apart and reassembled as they flew through the aether of magic. '_Fucking son of a bitch!'_ Harry cried as he felt the pain echoing through his bond to each of his Angels. '_When I figure out who left out this little detail…I'm going to shove a broom up their ass so far they'll be able to pick their teeth with the bristles!'_

Then without warning the rushing of wind and the bright light of the aether of magic ceased to exist and they found themselves standing in the middle of a snow-covered field in the middle of smoldering rune that'd been etched into the ground. "Well," Susan coughed as she stretched her back. "That was unpleasant. Let's never do that again."

Before any of them could agree or disagree, a low moaning that echoed throughout the valley caught their attention. Turing in the direction of the noise, Harry cursed. '_Come on! My luck cannot be that bad!'_

Standing just a few dozen yards from Harry and his Angels were hundreds of standing corpses. Most were missing pieces of flesh due to rot and decay. And some were done to just bones and tendons holding them together. And leading them was a solidary figure with white scaly skin, bright blue eyes and wielding large spear made of ice. The white figure in the lead stared at Harry and the other's for only a moment before raising its spear and giving off another low moaning cry. And in response, the undead horde rushed forward towards them.

Four rushes of wind came from behind him as his Angels donned their armor and prepared to fight. Raising his hand, Harry let loose a torrent of Fiendfyre that incinerated most of the oncoming horde. But neither the fire, nor the destruction of their comrades, seemed to hinder the undead as those left untouched by the flames continued their advance.

"Oh yeah," Ginny laughed as she created a whip out of fire and stood next to him. "This is a lot fucking better than the world we left behind!"

Just as the undead reach striking distance of them, a dozen arrows zipped past Harry and the girls, imbedding themselves into the undead and dropping them in their tracks. While confused at the sudden interruption, Harry kept his focus on the undead before him, rather than whatever or whoever was behind him. After incinerating yet another dozen undead, Harry scanned the field before him for what he'd assumed was the leader. Finding it still clear across the field, Harry turned on his heel and apparated, appearing right behind the creature.

Whatever it was had good instincts as it turned to face him the moment Harry appeared. But despite it's superb reflexes, it was far too slow as Harry as able to put the point of his wand against the creature's head. "_Reducto."_

The spell struck true, hitting the creature right between the eyes and sending it sprawling to the ground. Yet, even though the spell should've sheered its head clean off, the creature quickly recovered and sprung back up to its feet. "Huh." Harry hummed as he dodged a thrust from the spear before transfiguring the Elder Wand into curved blade.

The snow was something that Harry was not used to moving around in and edge combat was not his forte. And because of those two factors, Harry soon found himself being pushed back by the creature. After nearly being skewered for the third time, Harry windlessly conjured up a thin chain made of fire that he wrapped around the creature's arm. With a jerk he pulled the chain taught. And to his surprise it cut through the flesh of the creature almost as if it wasn't even there. '_Huh.'_ Harry thought to himself as he watched the creature suddenly back up. '_I thought this creature was magically resistant. But it appears that it's only resistant to some forms of magic. Fire seems to work quite well.'_

Before he could test his theory however, a dagger flew end over end over his shoulder and imbedded itself into the creature's forehead. The Ice monster froze for a brief second before shattering like glass. As the blue-eyed creature fell, so too did all the undead in the vicinity.

Turning around to face whoever had killed the blue-eyed creature, Harry found himself almost toe to toe with a large well-built man with steel-grey eyes, long dark hair and close-cut beard. But what truly caught Harry off guard as the horse size wolf grey-black wolf that was standing at the man's size. "Who," the man intoned, pointing a black dagger much like the one he'd thrown earlier at Harry. "In the name of the gods are you?"

* * *

**Well, there is chapter one of this experiment. Hope that you all liked it! Please leave a Review if you feel so inclined! They really help to motivate me to write more. Until next time! Later!**


	2. Chapter 2

**So, here we go again already! I feel the juices flowing! Hopefully I can keep this pace…but no promises!**

**I just gotta say…I'm blown away by the responses to this story. A week old and already more than 500 follows…that is just…insane. And for all of you that reviewed, I want to give you all a blanket thank you! Your support is just amazing! And going on reviews, I keep an open policy, as long as you're respectful. If you want to ask me questions or have suggestions feel free to give them. I have an idea of where I want this story to go, but I'm kinda winging it…so yeah. Suggestions are more than welcome.**

**In response to some comments, yes there will be a bit of world building in this story. And that is one aspect that I am greatly looking forward too. I love the GOT and ASOFI series…but hey, this is FF so let's have some fun!**

**Now onto this chapter…there are quite a few time jumps so this chapter was a little rough to write. So please forgive me if this chapter is a little rough.**

**And for those who are not necessarily thrilled at the prospect of an OP character, I try not to do that too much. That's not to say that Harry and others will have a significant advantage over everyone else. Just that they won't be able to just snap their fingers and destroy everyone. And I also try to keep things realistic to age. That means no being a god of sex at the age of eleven or so.**

**And one of the greatest aspects I think of GRRM story is that no one is infallible. Everyone has faults in his story, and no one is completely and utterly good. Everyone makes mistakes, everyone does something evil or bad at one point in time or another and they grow from those decisions. And that is something that I want to keep in mind while writing this. **

**Again, I am open to pairing suggestions. I have a few in mind…and not sure if this will turn into a harem or not…but more than likely leaning towards no or very limited (like Aegon and his sister wives limited).**

**Anyway, enough with that A/N, I'll try and keep them shorter from here on out! Please enjoy and please leave a review if you feel so inclined to do so!**

Standing atop the monstrous wall he'd helped to erect, Harry Potter stood stoically staring northwards as the cold northern winds billowed his cloak around him. '_The War for the Dawn.'_ Harry thought as he turned slightly to watch the sun begin to rise off the ocean. '_An apt name.'_

The War was truly an example of weapon that grew out of control. It all began when the humans of this land began expanding into this continent and started encroaching on the lands controlled by the elf-like creatures known as the 'Children of the Forest'. While the Children had powerful magic at their disposal, men had numbers. And a total lack of disregard for the land they were invading. After a generation or two of skirmishes between the two people the Children of the Forest began to approach extinction, and in their desperation, they created the ultimate weapon against man. The White Walkers. But before they could unleash their creations upon man, a pact was made that at least stemmed the tide of bloodshed and the Children were satisfied enough to simply seal their creations away.

But after a few generations of peace, something happened that the Children did not expect. The original Walker regained a semblance of self. And with its new-found sense of self and powers, the newly dumbed Night King used his powers to not only turn his fellow White Walkers against their creators, but to also reanimate the dead and turn them into mindless drones for his army. No longer kept in check by the Children, the White Walkers and their army of undead marched south like a plague, killing any and all that stood before them.

In desperation, the last of the Children banded together with men to try and stop the advancing horde. For a time, the combined numbers of man and the magic of the Children managed to slow the horde. But their alliance did little to stop the Walkers as each death took one away from the living and added one to the army of the dead. After years of fighting, the men and Children were forced off the main land and onto a large island just off the mainland. But the Walkers by combining their magic into a single objective, the Walkers were able to cast the land in a perpetual winter night. And soon enough the water separating the living from dead began to freeze over.

It was just when the water was frozen enough for the dead to cross that Harry and his Angels arrived in this strange land. Their magic, along with the obsidian mined on the island, provided the needed edge man and Children needed to begin to try fight back against the undead horde. It took years, but eventually the army of the living began to push back to army of the dead further and further north until finally the Night King and his few remaining Walkers abandoned their horde and fled far into the northern lands. Harry and his Angels were the only ones that were even able to follow the Night King. But the five discovered quickly that the Night King was far craftier than he'd appeared as he'd saturated the land with his magic, creating a barren waste land that dampened even Harry's considerable power to the point of almost non-existence.

But even without the death of the Night King, the land of men and Children celebrated the retreat of the Walkers as great victory. And for their part in changing the course of the war, Harry and his Angels were revered almost as demigods to the people of the land.

'_Daphne of course loves the attention.'_ Harry snorted as he kept watch over the northern landscape. '_Luna finds it funny. Susan doesn't care and Ginny, like myself, just finds their devotion incredibly annoying.'_

Hearing the crunching of snow near him, Harry didn't need to turn his head to see who was approaching him. "Sorcerer. I thought I'd find you up here."

Brandon Stark, or Bran as he preferred to be called, was perhaps one of the few here in this land that didn't worship the ground that Harry and his Angels walked on. The man was incredibly practical, straight forward and, to be quite honest, a genius in many respects. Especially architecture, something that was incredible considering there was no writing system in this land outside of crude drawings and pictures. It was Bran who'd not only come up with the idea for the great Wall, but he'd also been the one to design it from the ground up, with only little input from Harry and the others. Of course, it wouldn't have even been possible to build without Harry, Ginny, Daphne, Susan, Luna and the Children of the Forest. Together, they were able to pool their magic together and raise the wall in little under a few months instead decades or more. And while the magical users were had at work, Stark had moved south slightly and began laying the foundations for a grand city in the north. A city he intended to name 'Winterfell'.

"Stark." Harry nodded before turning his head back to face the far north.

Moving forward so that he was now standing shoulder to shoulder with Harry, the new King of the Northern Lands stared out at the expanse before them as he rested his hand on the hilt of his sword. The sword itself was a gift from Harry and his Angels. Or more precisely, it was an experiment of theirs that'd ended up working out. Using a combination of metal and obsidian, the five mages used their magic to combine the two and then forge the resulting substance into a sword. The resulting weapon was arguably the first true steel weapon of man and just slightly longer than a claymore. And if not for the runes that decreased its weight and made it unbreakable, it would've been far too cumbersome to use in combat against a nimble opponent like the Walkers and their horde.

But Luna had taken it one step even further. After seeing the Walkers weapons shatter the bronze weapons of man, Luna decided she wanted the sword to be able to do the same. And while she couldn't completely replicate the effect of the Walker's blades, Wolfs Blood, as Bran had taken to calling the sword due to it's red-black hue it'd gained from the obsidian, was able to shatter other blades if it struck with enough force. And given the strength of Bran's arm, the man had broken more than a few blades. Even a few of the White Walker Ice Spears.

"This war is not over, is it Sorcerer?"

"No." Harry replied, shaking his head. "As long as the Night King still lives, metaphorically speaking of course, this war will not be over."

Stark nodded as if expecting the answer. "Then House Stark will remain vigilant as we wait for the bastards return. Winter will come, and we will be ready for it when it does."

Smirking, Harry turned to his friend. "Careful Stark. That almost sounded poetic. Say that around Luna or Daphne and they might renew their efforts to teach you how to read and write."

To this, his friend let out chuckle. "Waste of time and materials if you ask me. Why write down all those complicated symbols when you can just leave a picture that means the same thing? A lot less time consuming and not nearly as frustrating. Plus, everyone can understand pictures. It'd be real pain in the ass to teach everyone to interpret those strange symbols of yours."

"As you say my friend." Harry laughed, patting Bran on the shoulder. "Just don't expect me to protect you if you say that in front of Luna. Again."

Bran shivered, which had absolutely nothing to do with the weather. "By the gods, I'm not stupid enough to do that. Again. I still don't know which I found more disturbing. The fact that she managed to bewitch my underclothes to bite me. Or the fact that she managed to bewitch them while I was still wearing them."

"That's Luna for you." Harry laughed as the two made their way towards the ramp system that led down the wall.

Originally Harry wanted to put in a lift, but the men of this realm were already suspicious didn't necessarily feel comfortable with the concept, outside of Bran who found the idea intriguing if more than slightly unsettling. So, in the end they settled on a long weaving ramp system that took forever and a day to climb. Harry could've apparated down and save the both the walk but considering this would probably be the last time he would have a chance to talk with his friend for a while, he wanted to walk.

"So," Bran began awkwardly as they began their long trek down. "I don't suppose I convince you and your women to stick around, can I?"

"No." Harry answered simply. "Honestly I'm surprised we've even stuck around as long as we have Bran. My Angels and I, we've never had this type of opportunity. This land, it's completely new to us. We're looking forward to exploring everything we can. But don't worry. We have a long life, we will return one day."

"Of course you will." Bran nodded. "The Children gave you that island right in the middle of the southern lands to use as you see fit. And I know you have a long life, unless you were completely shitting me about just how old the lot of you are. I just…if you lot are really going to do what you say, then I fear that I will never see my friends again."

Coming to a stop, Harry turned and faced his friend. "You will Bran. Afterall, I must see this grand city that you are planning. If you even manage to do half of what you want, then it will undoubtably be one of the greatest cities built."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence my friend." Bran smirked. "And you and yours shall always have a place at Winterfell. And as for my designs, I fear without your help I won't be able to achieve many."

"You will." Harry nodded, patting him on the back. "You're smart Bran, smarter than many. Even Daphne will agree to that."

Throwing his head back, Bran let out a long laugh. "That's not saying much my friend, considering that blond haired beauty considers all of us men, what did she call us again? Moronic Neanderthals was? Don't know what the fuck she meant by that, but I assume it was some sort of insult."

"Still," Harry continued with a smile, not denying what Daphne had said. "You'll be able to figure things out. There was a famous inventor back where we came from. Not entirely unlike yourself. One innovation he was working on took a long time. And when people said he failed ten thousand times, he simply responded by saying, 'I haven't failed. I've just found ten thousand ways that don't work'."

Bran looked at him closely. "But he still failed ten thousand times."

"That's not the point." Harry countered. "The point is he didn't give up. And with each failure he learned something new. The point I'm trying to make Bran is never give up trying. If you fail, simply learn from your failure and try again."

Turning silent, Bran stared off ahead of them. "Hm…never thought of it like that. I like it. And I'll keep it in mind. But there is one thing I'd like your help on. A…how did Daphne put it…a Vault? Yes, a Vault. I would appreciate your help creating a Vault beneath Winterfell that only the Lord and Heir of House Stark can access."

"We can do that." Harry nodded, thinking over the complex rune work that would be needed to key in Bran and his descendants, yet at the same time limiting the access number to only two. "I'll have to talk it over with Luna and Daphne…but between the three of us we should be able to create something along those lines."

The rest of their trek down was spent in an easy silence as the two men simply enjoyed one another's company. As they neared the bottom, Harry spotted his Angels standing at the base of the ramp waiting for him. "Well," Harry said as the two reached the ground. "This is it my friend."

"Aye, I guess it is." Bran nodded. "Live well my friends. And know that as long as Stark sits upon the Throne of Winterfell, so too shall the Master of Death and his Angels we welcome at our table."

Nodding his thanks, Harry clasped arms with Bran. "Thank you my friend. Live well and rule better. Or I'll come back and put my boot up your ass." Smirking, Harry let go of Bran and turned towards his Angels. "Well ladies, we have a world to explore. Let's go have some fun for a change."

And with that, the Master of Death and his Angels disappeared from the Wall and Westeros with little more than a lone shall cracking noise.

* * *

After leaving Westeros, Harry and his Angels traveled over every inch of the new world they found themselves. Living together, the five were renowned throughout the world, although very few truly knew of their existence. For nearly two thousand years the five lived throughout multiple lives. Sometimes pretending to be mere peasants while other times integrating themselves into the higher echelons of society. But despite their travels, the five always made time whenever they could to return to Winterfell. First to visit their first friend in this land, Brandon Stark, known in history as Bran the Builder. And then later to visit his descendants and offer their wisdom to the Kings of Winter.

After multiple millennia though, the sightings of the five began to slow. Years and then decades would pass before a story would emerge about a sighting of the Master of Death and his Angels. Eventually those sightings dwindled to the point that, without proper writing throughout most of the known world, many historians began to doubt whether this Master of Death and his Angels existed. Only in Westeros, where the five had helped to end the long night, did the people readily still believe that they even existed in the first place.

The most skeptical of the tale of Master of Death and his Angels were the Andals. Who landed on the shores of Westeros over two thousand years after the end of the Long Night. Slowly, the Andals spread their religion to those they deemed 'heathens'. One by one, either by the sword or through willing convergence, the first men converted to this new religion. Those who were deemed abominations, the giants and the Children of the Forest, were hunted to near extinction. Yet when the Andals finally thought they had the last of the abominations cornered in the lands that would become known as the Riverlands, all the creatures simply vanished. Only to reappeared safely in the North, where they eventually fled to beyond the Great Wall to escape the wars of men.

After nearly two thousand years of war and conquest, only the North and the Iron Isles remained untouched by the Andals and the Faith of the Seven. In the year 4000BC, a young Septon launched an ambitious campaign to once and for all conquer the 'unconquerable' Northern lands. The young Septon theorized that the best way to defeat the Northern barbarians was to first demoralize them completely. While many dismissed the tale of the Master of Death as a mere fantasy, this young Septon took the tales literally. But instead of seeing the Master of Death as a savior, he saw him as the ultimate enemy. A foolish being who dared consider himself on par with the Seven. But he also connected the Master of Deaths importance to the North, as the few illustrations he was able to uncover often depicted the Master of Death and Bran the Builder working together.

The Septon also spent years with various Maesters to try and pinpoint where this so-called 'Master of Death' might be hiding. After years of study, it was agreed upon that the most logical place for such a heathen, if he wasn't in the North already, would be the Isle of Faces. The Isle of Faces was revered by many of the First Men to be a holy place that few dared to step foot. It was were the Pact was signed between the First Men and the Children of the Forest, and it was also the last place in the southern kingdoms were weirwoods still grew. And, to add more crediance, it was also rumored that many Children still lived on the Isle.

Several more years passed as the Septon traveled from King to King and Lord to Lord trying to convince them to support his cause. Many were unwilling to support this campaign, however. While almost all had forsaken the Old Gods in favor of the Seven, many still held to the old tales. And desecration of the Isle Faces could bring down the wrath of the Old Gods at best and the potential wrath of the Master of Death at the worst.

Eventually, the Septon was able to convince nearly ten thousand men to join his holy crusade. And one bright sunny morning, the Septon and his army of five thousand set out on small rafts to set the Isle of Faces ablaze and end the tale of the Master of Death. Five days later the rafts that'd brought the men to the isle all floated back to the mainland. Each was filled the bodies of the five thousand that'd dared to attack the Isle of Faces. Aboard the lead raft was the Septon who'd arranged the campaign. He'd been strung up like a puppet across a crude structure that'd been built upon the raft with his tendon's acting like the strings. After that failed campaign, the Andals feared the Isle of Faces and no further campaign was raged against the Isle.

Three and a half centuries later the Targaryen family from Valyria settle on the Island of Dragonstone and set up a trading post for the greatest society ever created. A hundred years later a young woman of House Targaryen named Daenys foretold of the destruction of Valyria. Daenys told her father of her dream in vivid detail. About how she saw the destruction of Valyria, brought upon by their own hubris. She told her father of how a man with green eyes approached her and warned her that her family needed to flee to their stronghold on Dragonstone. Yet when she asked why, the man only gave a cryptic answer that her line would one day bring about the rekindling of magic and his peace.

Daenys's father, while curious as to the identity of the man in the dream, believed his daughter and moved his entire family and their five dragons to their hold on Dragonstone. Less than twelve years later, Daenys dream came true and the Doom of Valyria, a causation of misused magic, brought about the destruction of Valyria. Leaving only the Targaryen's as the last dragon riders in the world.

For the next one hundred years the Targaryen's consolidated their power on the island of Dragonstone and began to plan their great conquest of the main land. And finally, after one hundred years, the young Aegon and his sister wives Visenya and Rhaenys began their conquest of Westeros.

* * *

Within the dark recesses of the night, a lone figure stood before the weirwood tree that dominated the majority of the godswood within the might fortress of Moat Cailin. Torrhen Stark, descendent of Bran the Builder and the current King of Winter stared silently at the crying face etched in the dark of the weirwood as he contemplated what was about transpire. '_The dragons have conquered everything save for the Vale, the Iron Isles and Dorne.'_ Torrhen thought darkly as he stared at the tree. '_The mighty fortress of Harrenhal was reduced to mere rubble in the space of a few hours under Aegon's onslaught. What chance does Moat Cailin face? This mighty fortress has defended the North for millennia. But against a dragon? What chance do these stone walls have?'_

Walking forward, Torrhen placed his hand against the white bark of the weirwood. '_The Lannister's and Gardener's thought to face the dragons on the open field. And what did that gain them? Despite outnumbering the Targaryen forces five to one, Aegon and his sisters merely set their dragons upon them and incinerated their army. Mern, asshole that he was, died. Along with all his sons, grandsons, cousins and brothers. And Loren Lannister bent the knee and was allowed to retain his position. And the swords of the defeated were sent back to that bastard's city to be added to that monstrosity he calls the 'Iron Throne' Many of my bannermen, even my own brother, want to face the dragons rather than submit. They call upon the fact that we have resisted Andal invasions for thousands of years. Yet, never before have we faced a united south led by three fully grown dragons that can melt even stone.'_

Pausing, Torrhen took a step back and unsheathed the sword at his hip. Staring down at the blood red steel in his hands, Torrhen carefully ran his finger along the edge of the blade. '_House Stark gained the great sword Ice, which my brother now yields, centuries ago from Valyria. But this, this sword was said to have been given to us by the Master of Death himself. A sign of his favor to House Stark.'_ Pausing, Torrhen looked up at the weirwood. '_If there was ever a time to prove that you truly do exist Master of Death…now would be the time to do so.'_

Yet despite his plea, Torrhen found himself still alone in the godswood. "What was I expecting?" Torrhen sighed, sheathing his sword at his hip and turning to leave the godswood. "Some grand overture? The Master of Death himself arriving to exterminate the enemies of the North? He never bothered to show himself while the Andals tried to invade us, why would I expect his help now. Even if he did exist?"

"Well, what did you expect? Ask for me and then poof, instant Master of Death? When you reach nearly eight thousand years, let me know just how fast you can move."

Freezing in his tracks, Torrhen Stark felt all the blood leave his face as he tried to deny what he'd just heard. '_No.'_ He thought, slowly turning. '_It's…it's impossible.'_

Yet as he turned around fully, Torrhen was greeted by a sight that had him trembling and nearly pissing himself. Sitting at the base of the heart tree was a young green-eyed man with long black hair that was pulled back. Upon his right hand was a large ruby ring. Across his back was a cloak that shimmered even without light. And leaning against his shoulder was a long-curved staff that was as white as the weirwood behind him. All Torrhen had to go off were the crude drawings that'd been left behind by Bran the Builder, but there was no mistaking the man he now found himself before. The Master of Death himself.

Finding his wits quickly, Torrhen immediately sunk to one knee before the legend that'd saved the world of men from the Long Night. "My…Lord. Master of Death." Torrhen stumbled, not sure just how to address the Master of Death himself. "Forgive me…I-"

"There's nothing to forgive Torrhen. And stand up for fucks sake. I'm not some god or King or whatever that needs to be prostrated too in order to feel better about myself." The Master of Death. "And if you need to call me something, call me Harry. Or if you really feel the need to address me by a title, call me Lord Potter."

Swallowing hard, Torrhen rose back up to his feet and faced the living legend. "Lord Potter. Have, have you come to help us against the dragon horde?" Torrhen asked, hope swelling within his chest. Tales of what happened to the Isle of Faces Crusade were a tale sung frequently throughout the North. If the Master of Death stood with them, the dragons would have no chance.

Instead of answering however, the Master of Death merely rose from his seat and approached Torrhen. When the two were within arms reach of one another, the Master reached out with his hand…and it passed right through Torrhen's shoulder. "Who said that I was even truly here in the first place?" The Master of Death said as he extracted his ghostly hand from his shoulder. "There are rules young Stark. Rules that even I must abide by. And it is nearly taking all of my effort to stave off one of those rules for myself and my Angels until the time is right."

Torrhen felt his heart plummet. "Does that mean you will not stand with us?"

Stepping back, the Master of Death turned his head skywards and stared at the stars above them. "Magic is a fickle thing Stark. There are many forces within the universe Stark. Some thrive on magic, others despise its very existence because they are fearful of any potential challengers. I am one of the former. But those of the latter have gained much strength over the millennia to the point where magic is a mere ember of the blazing inferno it once was. For centuries, nay millennia's, I have been playing a careful balancing act against these forces trying to keep magic alive. But now only I, my Angels, the few Children of the Forest that still exist, House Stark…and House Targaryen are the few embers that are keeping the dying flames of magic alight. Should either House Stark or Targaryen die out…then those embers become even dimmer. And any hope of staving off the forces that wish to see magic's demise will become non-existent."

As the Master of Death lowered his head, Torrhen could swear he could almost see the age in the Master of Death's eyes. "So, you won't stand with us?" Torrhen asked, taking a step towards the Master of Death. "You stood with my ancestor! You helped to ensure the very creation of House Stark! And now you will see us die out at the hands of the dragons? Where is your honor? Where is your loyalty?!"

Torrhen regretted the words the moment the passed his lips. But before he could take them back, the Master of Death turned his eyes on him. In an instant, Torrhen was on his knees gasping for breath as it felt like the entirety of Winterfell was suddenly placed on his shoulders. "Do not presume to question my honor or loyalty Stark." The Master of Death said in an all too calm manner even as the invisible pressure on Torrhen increased, forcing him to go down to his hands. "I favor House Stark only because I count Bran as one of my friends. But that is neither here nor there. So mind your tongue boy. I deal with forces far beyond your comprehension."

Suddenly the pressure forcing him down was lifted, and Torrhen was able to pick himself back up to his knees. "Then…what would you have me do? My bannermen want to face the dragons…yet what chance do we stand against such beasts? Especially if you won't aid us in our darkest hour?"

The Master of Death didn't answer him right away, instead the ghostly figure took its time to head back to the weirwood and sit down before answering. "Tell me Torrhen, what are the words of House Stark?"

Blinking, Torrhen forced his head up in order to meet the eyes of Lord Potter. "Winter is coming."

"Aye it is." The Master of Death nodded. "When the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies-"

"-but the pack survives." Torrhen finished the unofficial motto of House Stark.

"Your words mean more than many assume they do." The Master of Death lectured him. "They are a warning to your enemies. A beacon to rally behind for your people. A call for hope. A need to stay ready for the challenges ahead. For when winter comes, metaphorically and literally, all must band together to survive. A winter unlike any you have ever imagined is coming Stark. Maybe not in your life time or even in the next dozen. But soon winter will come for you all. And if magic has died, then any hope of surviving this winter will be gone. I will not tell you what to do Stark. But know that even if I wished to do so, I cannot aid you here at the cost of destroying another ember of magic. Listen to your House's words Stark. All of them. And ask yourself this question. What is more important? Your pride? Or the lives of the ones you claim to protect."

And then, like a wisp of smoke, the Master of Death disappeared from the godswood. '_Our House's words?' _Torrhen thought. '_Winter is coming. The lone wolf dies, but the pack survives. And…there must always be a Stark in Winterfell.'_

Rising to his feet, Torrhen felt like he'd finally found his answer. Now, the only question was how to convince his bannerman that this was the correct option. And if he played the negotiations correctly, he might just be able to get a few concessions out of the dragon lords as well.

* * *

Standing in his command tent staring down at the map of Westeros, Aegon Targaryen stood side by side with his sister-wives Visenya and Rhaenys while he listened to his field commanders go over the potential battle plans for assaulting North. Around the table stood Lord Loren Lannister, the newly named Lord Harlen Tyrell, Lord Edmyn Tully, Lord Jon Mooton, Aegon's half-brother Orys Baratheon and a Septon named Maynard who'd insisted on joining their 'noble' crusade against the heathens after the Reach had been secured. "We should strike them hard your Grace." Harlen Tyrell stated as the eight of them stared down at the map of the neck. "We outnumber them nearly two to one and most of our forces are still making their way north. And we have your dragons, your grace. What chance do those northern barbarians have? Once we break through the gates of Moat Cailin, then the North will be yours."

"That is easier said than done." Edmyn Tully countered with a scoff. "Forgive me your grace, but I know these Northman and Moat Cailin. The Moat is not like Harrenhal. While it would be easy for your graces to simply fly over their walls and burn them out, I fear the risk. The archers of the North are not to be underestimated. Even though the Moat is only down to three towers, they are spaced out enough that your dragons, while assaulting one, would be vulnerable to the others. You'd have to hit all three at the same time. But even if the Moat falls, we will still have the crannogmen nipping at our heels as we head North. And what those men lack for in terms of strength and numbers, they more than make up for in their knowledge of the swamp lands, poisons and their ability to infiltrate enemies' camps. Quite simply your graces, there is a reason why every campaign ever launched against the North has failed."

"There is a simpler way to go about this, your Grace." Septon Maynard said, drawing attention to himself. "These heathens follow the Starks with an almost untold devotion. Route out the Starks completely, and the North will fall."

"The Starks have ruled over the North for eight thousand years." Orys Baratheon commented. "I doubt simply removing them will force the rest of the Northern houses to fold. If anything, the death of all the Starks will probably force the Northern houses to fight against us to the bitter end for taking away their beloved monarchs."

Leaning over the table, Aegon tuned out the bickering of his Lords and Commanders as he stared down at the map. Lord Edmyn's words were true. Attacking the North through the neck was a death sentence. Even more so now as summer was starting to wane. The last thing his army needed was an extended campaign in the coldest region of Westeros during autumn with long supply lines running adjacent to the swamps of the neck. The best option would be for himself and his sisters to take their dragons and force the North into submission. He doubted that the Northern houses would be caught unawares. Especially as even time had passed for the tale of Harrenhal to spread. Sending supplies by sea was an option, but again the Northmen knew their own waters better than his men. Not to mention in order to get said supplies, his ships would have to sail past the Veil or Arryn or worse, past the Iron Born. Neither of which was an attractive prospect.

But it wasn't just the logistics of the campaign that was weighing on his mind. No. What was truly weighing heavily on him was the strange passage he'd found in the diary of his ancestor Deanys Targaryen. '_Beware and befriend the wolves of the north. One of the last embers of a dying world.'_ The passage that'd been written by his ancestor read. '_For they are the defenders, destructors, and saviors of the House Targaryen. Only through wolves and dragons shall the rebirth be achieved. For winter will come. And without the wolves and dragons the realm will fall.'_

That one passage had stalled the Targaryen conquest for some time as Aegon and his sisters spent weeks on end trying to decipher the passage. How could this one house be the defenders, destructors and saviors of House Targaryen? It made little to no sense. But only a fool disregarded the words of Daenys the Dreamer. And Aegon was no fool. The Starks were needed. And he would do what he could to ensure their survival. But that desire only raised further complications. Namely, how did he subdue a House that'd been Kings for eight thousand years without killing them?

Just as his Lords and Commanders were starting another round of arguing, the tent flap was quickly pushed aside as a sentry entered the tent before quickly dropping to one knee before the assembled group. "A thousand apologies your grace," the man said, keeping his eyes lowered to the ground. "But a rider has appeared on the outskirts of the camp. A rider baring the sigil of House Stark. And…a banner of truce."

'_Well,'_ Aegon thought with a slight smirk as his various Lords and Commanders all stared at the messenger in shock or awe. '_Things have certainly gotten interesting.'_

* * *

Pulling his vision back into his corporeal form, Harry Potter slowly opened his eyes before immediately slouching over in his seat, only just managing to catch himself before falling over completely. "Is it done Harry?"

"It is Ginny." Harry nodded, straining to right himself on his seat as he stared into the depths of the darken room around him. "The wolves have submitted to the dragons. The last two embers of magic will soon be united. And our torment will finally be at an end."

"It is a shame." Susan's slow tone reached out from the darkness. "I rather like the Starks. That they would have to submit like this is rather…shameful to their heritage."

"I know." Harry nodded, turning his head and looking off in another direction. "Honestly I would've intervened if possible. I've always had a soft spot for the wolves ever since Bran killed that Walker right in front of me. But with the way things are right now…we can barely do anything. Even reaching out to Torrhen like that was chore that's going to put us out of commission for a long time."

"And what of the blade and the Wolf Grimoire?" Daphne asked from off to his right. "What has become of them?"

"The blade and the Grimoire have been put in the Wolf's vault. Torrhen made a vowed that neither would be able to be removed or found again until a king born of winter comes again." Harry said as he felt wariness start to settle in on him. "Luna. What can you see?"

"Little." Luna's airy disembodied voice answered. "The future is in flux, as always. A child of Fire and Ice could be born in a week, a month or thousand years from now. The Stark's or Targaryen's could die out in a generation or in five or never. But before either fall, the Child will be born. And we will be free."

"Good to hear that your visions are still as clear as always Luna." Ginny's voice crackled from the darkness with mirth. "So, I guess our only option now is to wait. Again. Too bad we can't have time having sex huh Harry?"

"At least you've gotten laid in the past three millennia!" Daphne called out angrily but with humor in her voice. "Do you have any idea how annoying it is to have _that_ particular itch and not be able to scratch. Let alone remember the last time it was even scratched!"

"That's enough girls." Harry laughed, pressing his hand down on his seat and using a small amount of magic to transfigure the seat into a bed before he laid down. "The end is in sight…we just need to wait a little while longer for the Child to be born. But in the mean time-"

"You sleep." Susan finished for him. "Honestly Harry, do you have any idea just how boring it is with you sleeping for centuries on end? Hell, the four of us ran out of shit to talk about a millennium ago."

Smirking to himself, Harry let his magic wash over him as he prepared himself for another bout of magical hibernation. "Well girls…when you consider just how old we am, the fact that I have to use all of my power just to keep us from disintegrating into nothingness and the fact that we're one of the last bastions keeping the flames of magic alive on this world, can you blame me for trying to conserve as much energy as possible?"

"We understand why you need to do this Harry." Ginny said calmly, and Harry swore he could almost feel her soft hand caressing the side of his face. "We're just saying that we're getting more than a little bored. And despite our…conditions…none of us blame you or have any regrets. Rest now my love. Our time and your struggle, are almost over."

Feeling the weight of his and his Angel's eight thousand years of life weighing on him, Harry closed his eyes and let his magic encase him and cut him off from the physical world, leaving him in the dying magical nexus of this world.

* * *

Sitting alone in the darkness of the woods, a lone boy stared up at the wood carved face upon the ancient tree with tears of blood pouring from its eyes. Tears that were echoed upon the boys face as well. "Please." The young boy cried as he slowly crept towards the tree until he was almost hugging its ancient roots. "Please…tell me why. Why am I a Snow? Why…why can't I be a Stark too?"

Even at the tender age of eight name days, Jon Snow knew that he was fortunate in his life. After all, how could he not? Everyone from Lady Stark to Septa Mordane and even the servants of Winterfell took the time to remind him of that fact repeatedly although just why they kept whispering and treating him differently from his siblings, he didn't know. Yet, despite his lot in life, the words whispered behind his back, he didn't mind. Or, more accurately, didn't fully understand just what they meant. After all, he had his siblings Robb, Sansa, Arya and the newest addition Bran. And he loved them all. He got to play with them and learn with them…that was of course whenever Lady Stark allowed him to do so. And he was content with his life. Until recently that was.

His father, Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell and the Warden of the North, had just returned from what the people were calling the 'Greyjoy Rebellion'. Both Jon and Robb had been ecstatic upon his return. Robb because his father was home. And Jon because…well people were usually nicer to him while his father was in the keep rather than away. But his father hadn't returned alone. With him, Lord Stark had brought home a boy a few years older than Robb and himself named Theon Greyjoy. And it was with Theon's arrival that Jon's life had started to turn upside down.

It started first when Theon had called Jon a bastard. Until that time, Jon had heard the word whispered but never really understood just what it meant and neither had his siblings. So, Sansa had asked Septa Mordane what it meant. And while the Septa's eyes widened slightly at his little sisters use of the word, the woman then proceeded to explain to all of them just what a bastard was. A child born of sin. A stain on the honor of a husband who strayed from his wife. A child whose every nature went against comment decency of the world and she spoke all this right in front of him, even meeting his eyes on occasion.

Jon could honestly say he'd never seen his father so angry as he did when Lord Stark learned of what the Septa had told his children. But the damage was already done. Jon now knew why so many people looked down at him. Why they whispered he was his father's shame and why he was lucky to even be allowed within the walls of Winterfell. He was a bastard. A child of sin. A stain on his father's impeccable honor. A child who, according to Septa Mordane, would lead to nothing good in life.

And then, just a few days ago, things got even worse. His father had left to go and deal with a dispute just to the south of Winterfell and Jon and Robb were playing in the courtyard of Winterfell. The two were bashing at one another with padded swords, it was a game that he and his brother used to play frequently. And whoever won would raise their hands and proclaim themselves the rightful 'Lord Stark'. Jon managed to get a lucky shot in and knocked his brother to the ground. Raising his hands in victory, Jon had loudly proclaimed that he was now the Lord Stark. But instead of his announcement being met with laughter or a further challenge from his brother, it was instead met with the laughter of Theon Greyjoy.

The older boy then loudly told everyone what Jon had said. Saying that bastard had designs on killing his kin and claiming the title of Lord Stark. Of course, Lady Stark was nearby when he'd made that proclamation. And before Jon could even defend himself the Lady Stark marched up to the Master of Arms at Winterfell and ordered that Jon was no longer allowed to practice with the 'true-born' Starks. And she turned her cold eyes on him, glaring with hatred before picking up a protesting Robb and dragging him into the keep and leaving him out in the cold. Alone.

He wasn't allowed to eat that at the main table with his siblings that night, as he was exiled to the far table in the corner of the great hall. His room was also moved. No longer could he sleep next to his siblings. His room was now as far away from the rest of the 'true-born' Starks as possible without removing him from the keep completely. He also wasn't allowed to attend the daily lessons with Robb and Maester Luwin. Despite his new exiled status, Jon had held out hope that once his father returned, he would be allowed to return to his siblings.

His father, upon his return, had overturned the decision that he wasn't allowed to train in the yard with Robb and that he would be able to return to lessons with Measter Luwin. However, his father hadn't moved his room back so he could be with his siblings. And nor did he bring Jon back to the main table. And while he could train with Robb again, Theon joined them as well. And the Greyjoy took an almost delight in reminding Jon of his station as a bastard. And while he could deal with that, what truly hurt was when Robb began to laugh whenever Theon mocked his status. Robb was his brother. His friend.

Which was why Jon was now here, in the godswood while the rest of Winterfell slept. He pleaded with the old gods for days on end to make him a Stark. To let him be a true-born son and not a child born of sin and shame. To have the name Stark. He'd done the same every night for over a week. And yet every morning he still awoke in his small cold room. Still a Snow. And still alone.

"What's the point of this?" Jon asked shakily as he rose from the roots of the weirwood, all the while glaring at the face in the tree. "They say the old gods don't talk to us. So why…why am I even bothering talking to you? And even if you did…why would you ever even bother to help a bastard. No one else cares…why you should you?"

Turning on his heel, Jon made to leave the gods wood while at the same time trying, and failing, to keep the tears from falling from his eyes. "And what, prey tell, is in a name young man that can cause you so much pain?"

Jon had just reached the edge of the hot spring before the weirwood when the voice called out from behind him. '_No.'_ Jon thought vehemently. '_It's impossible.'_

"You will find as you age young mane. That impossible is merely a word that people use to explain that which they don't yet understand."

Feeling his heart hammering in his chest, Jon slowly turned around, his fist reaching down and clutching at the small dagger he'd been gifted by his father on his past name day. Standing before the heart tree, right where Jon had been praying, was a man that Jon had never seen. The stranger looked no older than his Lord father. He was wearing a robe similar in style to the one Maester Luwin wore, only the strangers robe was all black and he was carrying a bone-white staff that was as tall as him. But it wasn't the man's clothing or the staff that the man held that caught Jon's attention the most. It was his eyes. The man's vibrant green eyes that almost seemed to glow in the darkness of the night.

Feeling more scared then he'd ever had before, Jon nervously looked around the godswood for any sign of his father's guards. Finding none, Jon clutched his dagger tighter as he faced off against the unknown man. "Who – who are you?!" He asked, taking a half step back. "How did you get here?!"

Sighing, the man leaned his staff against the weirwood before slowly sinking down into the ground in a seated position. "Well, to answer your first question my name is Harry Potter. Not that I expect you of course to know that. And as for how I got here, well that is complicated. More complicated than your mind could probably handle now. So, let's just leave that one be for now shall we?"

Clutching his dagger even tighter, Jon started thinking about how quickly he could run from the godswood if need. '_Will he be able to catch me? I don't think so. I've never seen Maester Luwin move all that fast in those of robes of his. But this man is younger than the Maester. Perhaps he's faster than him. If I can't outrun him…maybe I could yell for help? Surely one of my father's guards are close enough to hear. But then…would they even care if it was me calling out for help?'_

Across from him, the strange man snorted as he leaned back against the tree. "You know young man, after one introduces themselves it's usually considered common curtesy to return the favor without being prompted to do so."

Licking his lips and swallowing the lump in his throat, Jon shifted his weight from foot to foot as he considered the man. "Jon Snow."

"There," the stranger, Harry Potter, said with a smile. "That wasn't so hard now was it Jon? Now why don't you sit down and relax already? And let go of that dagger, it won't do you any good right now."

"I – I think I would prefer staying here." Jon responded, trying and failing to keep his voice steady. "And I – I think you need to leave now. You shouldn't be here."

Sighing, the man shook his head. "Just sit-down Jon."

Jon had no clue what happened. One moment he was standing clear across the godswood from the strange man and the next, he was sitting on the roots of the weirwood no more than two arm lengths away from the stranger. Not only that, but Jon's dagger was gone. His eyes widened even further once he found his dagger. It was in the hand of the stranger. Sheath and all. "There," Harry Potter said with a smile as he set the dagger down in between the two of them. "I always find it easier for two people to talk to one another when they are both unarmed and on even footing with one another."

Eyes flickering back and forth between the dagger and the stranger to where Jon had once been and where he was now, his eight name-day mind immediately jumped to the only logical conclusion it could. "Are…. are you one – one of the old gods?" Jon asked almost breathlessly as he stared at the man. He truly hoped so. He couldn't wait to see the look on Lady Stark's face when he presented proof of the old gods to her.

To his dismay however, the stranger, Lord Potter, merely shook his head. "No. I'm not one of those you call the old gods. Although truthfully you are not the first one to make that mistake. It took years to convince Bran that we weren't gods. Then there was that one century or two in the Summerset Isles where we were worshiped as gods…that was an interesting century that's for sure. Inflated Daphne's head to almost epic proportions."

Jon honestly didn't understand even half of what Lord Potter was talking about. "If…if you're not an old god then, then how did you do…well…what you just did? With me? I was over there and now I'm here. How did you do that? Do you, do you have magic? Maester Luwin said that magic was dead! That Valyria was the last ember of magic in the world. And when the last dragon died years ago that any hope of rekindling magic died with it!"

"And your Maester knows everything does he?" Lord Potter asked with a raised eyebrow. "Trust me Jon, no one knows everything. Not even I. And those that claim they do, just show how little they truly know. But to answer your question, yes, I know a few tricks that have served me well of the years. But that is neither here nor there. I'm not here because of me. I'm here because of you."

"Me?" Jon blinked, staring up at the man. "You're here because…of me?"

"Yes. Is that so hard to believe young man?"

Blinking, Jon felt a swell of hope rise in his chest before he ruthlessly pushed it down. "But why? Are you sure you're not here because of my brother? He's, he's a Stark. And the heir of Winterfell and I'm…I'm just a Snow. A bastard."

"And what does that mean Jon?" Lord Potter asked him. "What does being a bastard mean to you? Do you think that just because people label you as such that you must adhere to it? Trust me boy. I learned a long time ago to ignore what people think and say of me. I've been called and labeled far worse than a 'bastard' in my time. But I never let what people label me define who I am. Do you understand what I'm saying Jon?"

Staring up at the stranger, Jon tried to piece together what was being said, but in the end the young man could only shake his head. "No."

Sighing, Lord Potter stared off into the distance. "People are petty Jon. Either through fear or the need to feel better about themselves or their situation they will often lash out at the easiest target they can find, much like a drowning man with latch onto a piece of driftwood to keep himself afloat. And you Jon, unfortunately, are a very easy target for their scorn. And because of that, you have a choice. You can either let what they say affect you and define you. Or, you can do the exact opposite. Let people say what they will about you, but do not let it define you. Be your own man. Tell me Jon, what do you truly want in life? And take your time in answering this one."

Jon almost immediately said that he wanted to be a Stark. But at the last moment he managed to hold it back. '_Even if I become a Stark…what then?'_ He asked himself, tearing his eyes away from the stranger and gazing towards the hot spring in front of them. '_Winterfell isn't mine…it's Robb's. And…and I don't want to take that from him. Then everyone will only say that I truly am a bastard. So…what do I want?'_

Feeling a hand on his back, Jon turned back towards Lord Potter, who was patting him on the back. "It's a tough question Jon. Especially for one your age. Many never find a true answer either. But it is one that you need to think about. You may think that your brothers and sisters have a better life before them. But think about it. Your brother will inherit Winterfell and his wife will be chosen for him. Your sisters will have husbands chosen for them and be shipped off to better alliances. And your brothers may be given a keep and a wife. All of them have their futures defined for them. As of this moment Jon you have more options, more freedoms, than any of your siblings. You, more so than any of your brothers or sisters, have the chance to truly make a name for yourself. Mostly because no one expects you to amount to anything of worth. The only question you must ask yourself is if you truly have the will to do so. And if you truly want to make a name for yourself…I can help you do that."

Looking up at Lord Potter, Jon felt a surge of joy spread throughout his chest. "Why? Why do you want to help me?"

"Because you're special Jon." Lord Potter answered simply.

Blinking, Jon stared up dumbly at the man. '_I'm…special?'_ "What?"

"Tell me Jon," Lord Potter said with a smile. "Has anything…strange ever happened around you when you were angry or scared?"

Jon felt a wave of nervousness pass through him. Immediately his mind went back to two years ago when one of the kennel masters dogs got lose and ran after him. Jon was running as the dog chased and barked at him, he remembered being so scared and wishing he was safe…and the next instant he was up on the ramparts well away from the dog. Then there was the time he when he snuck into the great hall before dinner and accidently knocked over Lady Starks cup, shattering it. But then the next instant as he was shakily picking up the pieces and wondering how he was going to fix it, the cup seemed to fix itself.

"And then there is also the fact that you have been holding yourself back Jon." Lord Potter continued, bringing Jon out of his thoughts and back to the present. "In both your physical training and in your lessons with Maester Luwin. You understand concepts, pertaining to both the body and body, far faster than your brother Robb. Not only that, but you can push yourself harder and longer than your brother in the yard. No point in hiding it Jon. I know it to be true. And if you want, I can help you hone yourself even further. I can help you leave the title of bastard behind and become something far more than even 'Stark'."

It all seemed to good to be true. And he vaguely remembered something Maester Luwin had taught Robb and himself in one of their first lessons. '_If something sounds too good to be true boys, it usually is. And there is some sort of catch.'_ "What…what do you want of me in return?" Jon asked slowly. "I won't…I won't betray my family for you! I won't usurp them!"

"I know you won't." Lord Potter nodded. "And truthfully that's one more positive aspect of yours Jon. Even at your age, I can already tell that you are going to become a good man one day. It's one of the many reasons why I sought you out specifically. And while there is a catch…a rather interesting one…it is something that we can come back to later. But I can promise you this Jon. I will never lie to you. I will never use you. And I will never try and turn you against those you love. Do we have a deal?'

Gazing up at the towers of Winterfell, Jon thought hard about what the man was offering. In the end though, the decision was easy to make. "When do we start?"

"Well, first we have to help you actually make a name for yourself beyond Snow. And to do that we'll have to start small." Lord Potter said, turning his head away and scratching at the slight stubble on his jaw. "Tell me Jon, have you ever heard of the Wolf's Vault?"

Blinking, Jon tried thinking back on all the lessons he'd attended with Maester Luwin. "No."

The man didn't seem surprised by his answer. "Not surprising honestly. Truthfully you shouldn't know about it. Only the Lord Stark and the Heir are supposed to know about it. And the only reason I know of it is because Bran commissioned me to make it in the first place. But you have heard of Wolfs Blood right?"

That was one that Jon did know. "Yes." Jon nodded. "It's the true ancestral sword of House Stark, said to have been used by Bran the Builder. But…they say that Torrhen Stark destroyed the sword in his shame after kneeling to Aegon Targaryen."

"He didn't destroy it." Lord Potter countered. "He couldn't even if he wanted too. After kneeling to Aegon he made an oath that the blade wouldn't be drawn again until conditions were met. And to ensure this, he stashed the blade away in the Wolf's Vault and then didn't tell his heir about the vault, leaving it to be forgotten to history. Until now that is. It is time for Wolfs Blood to reemerge. And you and Robb will be the ones to do so."

"How?" Jon asked eagerly. The chance to retrieve Wolfs Blood…it was far too good of chance to pass by.

"Simple." Lord Potter responded. "While the location of the Vault has been lost to time, I will help you by opening your eyes just enough so that you will be able to find it. But remember, only the Lord Stark and his heir can open it. So, while I'll gift you with the ability to find it, only Robb will be able to open the Vault and retrieve the sword."

The fact that he would have to share with Robb dimmed his joy at potentially finding the lost sword of House Stark. But in the end, the blade would've gone to Robb regardless. And if he could be the one to help Robb find the sword…then maybe Robb wouldn't laugh at his being called a bastard again. "Okay." Jon nodded. "What do I have to do?"

Smiling, the man leaned forward and pressed his forefinger against Jon's forehead. "You need to wake up Jon."

* * *

"That should be enough for the moment young Robb. Take a few minutes and go relieve yourself and think on the question I posed to you. And when you come back, I expect an answer."

"Yes Maester Luwin." Robb nodded as he quickly left the Maester and Theon behind as he made his way towards the privy.

Truthfully, while Robb did need to use the privy, it wasn't the primary reason why he wanted to leave the room behind. Lessons with Maester Luwin just…didn't feel completely right anymore. Not without Jon by his side. He didn't really understand why his half brother just wasn't allowed to attend lessons with him as frequently any more. Part of him feared that it was because of what happened a short time ago when the two were playing and Jon proclaimed himself the 'Lord of Winterfell'. And then there was the whole 'bastard' comment by Theon and the explanation from Septa Mordane about just what a bastard even was.

For not the first time he was tempted to go to his father and ask that Jon be allowed back into his lessons. But the look on his mother's face whenever she spoke of Jon gave him pause. He knew, even at his age, that his mother hated Jon. But what he didn't understand was why she did. Jon was fun. He was Robb's brother. He took care of Sansa and Arya and even young Bran. So why didn't his mother like him?

Finishing in the privy, Robb made to leave and nearly ran head long into Jon as he stepped out of the small room. "Gods Jon!" Robb shouted as he clutched at his chest. "Are you trying to send me to gods?!"

His brother merely stood there with a silly grin one his face. "No. Although hearing you scream like Sansa when she saw that rat was certainly entertaining."

"Oh haha." Robb chuckled before turning a tad sheepish. "What…what do you need Jon?"

Jon's smile faltered slightly as he looked up and down the hall. "Robb…do you trust me?"

Robb blinked at the question. "Of course I trust you Jon. You're my brother."

Jon's look of relief was almost like a dagger to the heart. Promising once again to be a better brother, Robb stepped forward and put a hand on Jon's shoulder. "You're my brother Jon." Robb continued. "No matter what the stupid Septa says. You will always be my brother. And I know that Sansa, Arya and Brand feel the same."

"Thank you Robb." Jon said, a smile coming over his face. "Now come on. I got something to show you."

"Wait!" Robb called out as Jon grabbed his arm and started pulling him. "I'm still in lessons with Maester Luwin."

Pausing, Jon turned back towards him and gave him a half grin. "Like you haven't skipped lessons before Robb. Now come on. I swear to you this will be worth it!"

Hesitating for only a moment, Robb broke out into a wide grin as he picked up the pace and followed his brother. "Okay Jon," he said as the two slipped out of the keep and into the courtyard. "So, where are we going."

"The crypts." Jon answered as the two made their way towards the ancient resting place of the Starks beneath Winterfell.

Arriving at the entrance the two paused only long enough to grab a torch, a feat which took the both considering they were still relatively short, and after igniting it headed into the depths beneath Winterfell. His father had always told them that they shouldn't wander the catacombs without a guide. He said that they were a labyrinth that one could easily get lost within. But Jon almost seemed to know exactly where he was going as his brother made one turn after another without even a moment's hesitation. Walking with his brother, Robb couldn't help but stare at the previous Stark Lords as they passed them by. '_The former Kings of Winter.'_ Robb thought as he looked at the old tombs. '_And one day…I will join them.'_ The thought was…humbling.

Without warning his brother abruptly came to a halt and turned towards one of the statues. It was unlike any of the other monuments. Instead of being sculpted after the lord that'd been buried beneath, it was instead sculpted after a wolf. "It's right here." Jon said, walking towards the wolf. "The Wolf's Vault."

Those three simple words pulled Robb up short. "Jon…how do you know about the Wolf's Vault?" He asked wearily.

The Vault was something his father had told him about. A cash of riches beneath Winterfell that'd been sealed off by Torrhen Stark after he bent the knee to Aegon the Conqueror. "Father didn't tell me." Jon said quickly as he stepped forward and placed his hand on top of the wolf. "As for how I learned of it…would you believe that I dreamed of it? But even though I can find it, I know I'm not the one to open it. That right belongs solely to father and you as the current and future Lords of Winterfell."

As Jon stepped back, Robb felt himself step forward almost involuntarily. "Father told me…when he closed off the Vault Torrhen Stark said that no Stark would be able to find it again."

"It's a good thing I'm not a Stark then huh?"

Looking towards his brother, Robb shame roll through him as he thought of just how he'd been treating Jon since Theon's arrival. "You are my brother Jon. And you might not have our name, but you are a Stark through and through." Grinning at Jon, Robb turned back to the statue. "Now…how do I open it?"

The two stared in silence at the statue for several moments before it was broken by Jon's laughter. "Um…I don't know. You're the next Lord of Winterfell…maybe command it to open or something like that."

"Better than idea I might've had." Robb conceded as he stepped forward and placed his hand on the wolf's head. "I, Robb Stark, future Lord of Winterfell command you to open."

In truth, Robb hadn't really expected anything to happen. So, to say that he was more than slightly surprised when the statue and the section of wall behind it moved to the side on his command revealing a secret passage would be an understatement. "See," Jon laughed at Robb's opened mouth expression. "I told you it was here. Although I wasn't expecting it to be so…dark."

"Seven hells." Robb cursed, staring down firstly at his hand before staring down the newly opened passage. "It actually worked."

Feeling mischievous, Robb turned to his brother. "Well Jon, shall we see what awaits inside? Or are you too scared. If you're too scared of the dark, I'm sure I can get Sansa down here to hold your hand."

Jon punched his shoulder in return. "Very funny Stark." Jon laughed. "But still, you're the future Lord. So, after you, my lord."

Holding the torch aloft, Robb carefully made his way down the tunnel. They didn't have to travel very far as within a few dozen paces the tunnel widened out into a large circular chamber at least twenty paces across. They couldn't see much with only a single torch for lighting, but what they could make out made both boy's jaws drop. There were at least a dozen waist high chests scattered throughout the room. And each was overflowing with gold and silver coins. Robb had seen the coffers of Winterfell before…and what was in this room more than tripled what the coffers currently held. And that wasn't even counting the various jewels scattered around the room or the different weapons and armor that lined the walls.

"There it is."

Shaking his head, Robb turned his attention off the gold and towards his brother. But Jon wasn't looking at the gold and silver scattered around the room. Instead his brother was staring at the strange alter in the center of the room. Holding the torch high, Robb carefully stepped towards the alter, his breath coming out in short pants as he stared at was upon its surface. There were two books and a strange colored rock. But he wasn't staring at those. No, his attention was solely on the sheathed longsword that dominated most of the alter. A longsword with the pummel shaped like a wolf's head with the blade coming out of its mouth.

"By the gods." Robb breathed stepping close enough to touch the hilt. "Is this…"

"Wolfs Blood." Jon answered for him, taking the torch from his hand and leaving both of Robb's hands free. "The true ancestral sword of House Stark. And now…your blade as well Robb."

Reaching forward slowly, Robb carefully picked the blade up from the alter. His father had allowed him to hold Ice once before. Even though it was Valyrian steel and far lighter than normal, he could still barely hold the blade aloft. This sword however was just as Ice, maybe a few finger widths shorter, but he could pick it up easily. Any doubts of the blades identity however were firmly put to rest as he bared a few inches of steel. The blade didn't have the shine of normal steel, nor the smoky coloring of Valyrian steel. Instead the steel of the blade was blood red. '_The blood of the wolves.'_ Robb thought to himself as he stared down at the few inches of bare steel. '_This…this truly is the ancestral sword of House Stark.'_

"I don't think we should linger down here much longer Robb." Jon said, breaking Robb out of his revere of the blade. "I'm sure the Lady Stark has probably commanded the entire House hold to search for you by now."

"More than likely." Robb nodded, sheathing the sword. "We're going to get in a lot of trouble for this, aren't we?"

"More than likely." Jon laughed. "But it was worth it, wasn't it?"

"Oh yeah." Robb laughed along with his brother. "It was definitely worth it."


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Whoa…three chapters in three weeks…I'm on a roll again! Not much of a note here at the start, just want to take a minute to say thank you to everyone who reviewed/favorite/followed this story. Over 900 follows and 100 reviews in 2 weeks…thank you all so much!**

**One thing I do think I need to address, which was in several reviews, is Harry's apparent lack of power. Well…right now I'm getting two conflicting types of reviews lol. One saying 'Oh yeah…another OP HP where he runs over everyone' and the other 'Why isn't Harry just running over everyone!'. Now, to address that, I will say that there is a reason for Harry not interfering much at the moment, and there have been some clues in the first two chapters as to why that might be. And another, I'm not necessarily a huge fan of OP protagonists running over everyone, but that being said the power build up will be relatively slow but once it gets going, there will be little slow it down.**

**Anyway, with that out of the way, I hope that you all enjoy and please leave a review if you feel so inclined! If you feel the need to ask a question, feel free to do so and I will do my best to get back to you in a timely manner. Oh, and btw, flame reviews are ignored, especially coming from those who have a profile on this site but have written no stories. So do us all a favor, and just don't flame/troll. If you don't have anything constructive or suggestive to say to help better a story, then just don't bother.**

**Standard disclaimer: GOT and HP are not mine. This purely for fun.**

* * *

Sitting at his desk within his solar, Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, found himself at complete loss for words. When Maester Luwin had come to him and his Lady wife informing them of Robb's disappearance, Catelyn had gone white as snow. She'd immediately called for a search party and ordered the entire keep be locked down before Ned could even utter a single word. Her temperament did not improve once it was revealed that Jon was missing as well. She immediately assumed that Jon had done something to Robb or that he had convinced their son to leave the keep.

Mercifully enough, the two boys showed up at the entrance to the crypts less than an hour after they'd been noticed missing. Catelyn had immediately descended upon Robb, alternating between checking to make sure he was okay to scolding him. All the while completely ignoring Jon as if the boy didn't even exist. It took nearly another hour for Ned to separated Robb from his wife before he was able to question the two about why they'd decided to go down into the crypts. Their answer was not one that Ned had expected. And in truth, it was one he hadn't even believed until he'd had the two lead him alone down into the crypts and to the entrance of the hidden Wolfs Vault.

His father, before he'd left for Kings Landing, had left Ned a well-hidden letter in his solar. Within the letter he carefully explained everything he'd known about the Wolfs Vault, Torrhen Stark's oath and of Wolfs Blood. The letter explained how ever since the Conquest that every Stark Lord and his Heir had searched for the Vault and the lost sword. Yet none had ever managed to find it.

And now, here he was. Sitting in his solar with two ancient books and one sword that'd been lost since the Conquest. Running his finger along the wolf engraved hilt of the sword, Ned couldn't stop his mind from wandering about the consequences of this sword showing up now. '_It's ironic in its own way. It was because of Aegon Targaryen that this sword was sealed away by Torrhen Stark out of shame. And it was because of Jon that it is now returned to House Stark.'_

Of course, that wasn't the only thought floating through his head. The other implication was…unsettling. '_I never told Robb of Torrhen's true oath. On how no Stark would ever find the Wolfs Vault or hold Wolfs Blood again until a King from Winter was born. Could…could he mean Jon? No. I can't even begin to entertain that notion of thought. For Jon's sake…as well as House Starks.'_

Setting the sword aside for now, Ned turned his attention to the other two items on his desk. He'd originally been tempted to take all four items from the center alter in the Wolf's Vault, but upon realizing just what the multicolored stone was, he felt it prudent to leave it in its place given the implication it represented. Reaching for the first book, Ned turned it's cover and stared down at the words on the page. '_The Grimoire of House Stark.'_ He thought, flipping through the first few pages that were written some of the earliest Starks when men were still learning how to write properly. '_Most of it is illegible. Not surprising considering how most of these pages come from a time when men were still learning how to write. Perhaps Maester Luwin could help me decipher some of these passages…but I can't allow that. This book contains many secretes that belong to House Stark and House Stark alone. If Maester Luwin were to translate them or even get his hands on this book, he would be obligated to send it back to the Citadel for further study. And that is something that I cannot allow to come to pass.'_

Flipping through the book, Ned came upon the last entry within the tomb, written by Torrhen Stark, the King-Who-Knelt. Within the entry he explained his reasoning for kneeling as he wished to spare his people. The other part of the entry was questionable at best. He claimed that upon the eve of battle he visited by the 'Master of Death'.

That one line made Ned questions as to whether his ancestor had been in full control of his mind at the time. Ned knew well the stories of the so-called 'Master of Death'. He doubted there were few in the land would did not at least hear mention of the figure from legends. Most associated the man around the 'Bloody Crusade'. A time when a ground of Andal fanatics tried to lay siege to the Isle of Faces, only to return a few days later dead to the man. The Andals labeled him a demon in human form. A betrayer to the Seven who was struck down and sealed to the mortal realm after he tried to usurp the Seven-Who-Are-One.

In the North however, the 'Master of Death' was remember very differently. He was believed to have fought alongside Bran the Builder to defeat the White Walkers. Another legend that none had been able to prove. However, it was also believed that he had a direct hand in the creation of the great Wall as well as Winterfell itself. '_But no one has ever been able to prove he ever even existed.'_ Ned thought as he flipped through the last entry and then continued to flip through the blank pages in the book. '_The last time the 'Master of Death' was even seen, if he was, was during the Bloody Crusade two thousand years ago. And none of those men lived long enough to confirm his existence.'_

But as Ned continued to flip through the Grimoire, he noticed something strange. The book didn't seem to end. '_No matter how many pages I flip though,'_ he thought, flipping through dozens of blank pages. '_The book never seems to run out of blank pages…no matter how many I pass by the book doesn't thin. Almost as if they were being created as fast as I can look through them.'_

Deciding he'd read enough for one day, he closed the Grimoire and turned his attention to the other book on his desk. Although, calling it a 'book' was a stretch. It was comprised entirely of leather, even the individual pages were animal skin. The pages within were not covered with intricate patterns of writing, instead each page depicted a picture of an event. Most of what was depicted was, to be honest, impossible. Or at least Ned hoped that it was impossible. As most of the pictures depicted the War for the Dawn. The time when the White Walkers roamed the lands and slaughtered men by the thousands before raising them to join their undead legion.

Hearing a knock on his solar's door Ned placed a cloth over the hilt of the sword before placing the Grimoire into a drawer within desk. "Enter."

The door to his solar opened and the one's he'd summoned entered the room in quick succession. At the forefront was his wife; followed by Maester Luwin, Ser Rodrik Cassel, Vayon Poole and the blacksmith Mikken. Once the five were fully within the solar and the door was shut, Ned rose to his feet. "I've called you all here to discuss why Robb and Jon disappeared earlier today." He said, cutting right to the point as he pulled the cloth off the hilt and picked up the blade by the sheath. "Master Mikken, Maester Luwin. Perhaps you two could confirm my suspicions about this sword that was found this morning."

The two men he called out stepped forward, the Maester looking curious while Mikken just stared at the hilt of the blade in mute shock. By the time Mikken grasped hold of the sheath, his hands were shaking so much that Ned wondered for a moment if the smith was going to drop the blade. Visibly swallowing the smith grabbed hold of the hilt and, after receiving an affirmative nod from Ned, bared a few inches of steel. "Lord Stark…" Mikken breathed as he stared at the few inches of red steel for a moment before pulling the blade out in its entirety.

All five of the new comers stared at the blade in curiosity and in the case of Maester Luwin, suspicion. Holding the blade at the downward angle, Mikken sighted down the edge. "It's perfectly straight. No warping at all." Resting the flat of the blade on his forefinger just beyond the hilt, Mikken moved the blade ever so slightly until it was balancing perfectly on his finger. "Perfectly balanced. Light as a feather. Amazing considering its length. Nearly as long as Ice, but as light as a short sword." Picking up a piece of parchment from Ned's desk, the smith then gently skimmed the edge of the blade with the parchment, which was easily cut in two. "And as sharp as if a wet stone had just been taken to it. This…this sword…there is only one name I can give it my Lord."

"Wolfs Blood." Ned finished for the blacksmith as he took the sword back from Mikken and returned it to its sheath. "The true ancestral sword of House Stark. Thought to be lost when Torrhen knelt to Aegon the conqueror. And found now by Robb and Jon."

He could see his wife sitting up straighter with a proud look creeping upon her face at the thought that it was her son that was able to find the lost blade of House Stark. But when Jon's name was mentioned in conjunction with Robb, her lips twitched in the tell-tale manner that they always did whenever Jon was brought up. And for not the first time, nor the hundredth, Ned thought about telling his wife the truth. '_No. I can't do that. For her sake. If the truth ever got out…and she knew…then she would be just as liable as I. No. It's safer for her this way to be able to plead ignorance should the truth come out.'_

"And that is not all the found." Ned continued as he picked up the book and held it out to Maester Luwin. "Maester, if you could take a look at this and tell me what you think."

Taking the book from him, the aged Maester examined the covering of the leather tome for some time before opening it. "This is…strange Lord Stark." Maester Luwin said as he ran his fingers across the pages. "It's made entirely of animal skin and…seems to predate writing. Which means this book was written well before the Andals made landfall here in Westeros." The Maesters eyes almost widened comically as the realization of what he'd just said sunk in. "My Lord…if this is book is authentic then it could be one of the first books ever produced. But if that is so…then how is it in such good condition?"

"Perhaps the same way that Wolfs Blood still looks like it is fresh of the grind stone and how Valyrian steel never loses it's edge." Mikken supplied. "Magic."

"Regardless of how these two have survived," Ned cut in before Maester Luwin could dismiss the notion. "The fact remains that they are now in our possession. And it is because of Robb and Jon that House Stark once again has them in our possession. Vayon."

"Yes, my Lord?" Vayon asked, stepping forward.

"Have the servants move Jon's room back to the main wing of the keep." Ned said flatly, ignoring the look his wife was sending him. "Ser Rodrik, Maester Luwin. Jon will be returning to his lessons with both of you along with Robb and Theon. That is all, dismissed."

With a course of 'yes my Lord', the four men quickly made their way out of his solar, leaving only Ned and his Lady wife within. Knowing, and dreading, the conversation that was about to come, Ned set Wolfs Blood back down on his desk and made his way back over to his seat. "You don't approve." He said simply as he sat down.

Cat's chin rose as she met his eyes. "Does it matter? The decision has been made."

Feeling the same headache coming on that always threatened to overtake him whenever Jon was brought up, Ned poured himself a glass of water from the pitcher on his desk. "Although he may say otherwise, it is because of Jon that Wolfs Blood is even returned to us." Ned said, making his wife blink. "I don't know how he did it, but Jon figured out where Torrhen Stark had hidden the blade. But instead of taking it for himself or trying to take the credit for finding the blade as many would do, he sought out Robb and insisted that he come along and present the sword to me as if Robb was the one to find it."

Catelyn's defiant look didn't fade. "Then the boy merely did as he should have."

"Cat." Ned breathed, tired of this argument after years of having it. "I did not bring Jon back with me from the war to insult you. He is of my blood, he is a wolf. And the pack needs to stay together. Especially after what happened during the Rebellion. Jon does not covet Robb's position. He's not about to usurp any of our children for Winterfell. If anything, Jon has it in him to be perhaps Robb's most loyal bannerman in the future should he gain a keep of his own. What can I, or Jon, do to convince you of this?"

Cat stared at him silently for a full minute before answering. "Send the boy to the Night's Watch. The boy looks up to your brother and has seemed enthralled by tales of the Watch before. Surely they would welcome one even as young as the boy."

Ned nearly winced at that thought. In truth, it wasn't the first time even he'd thought of it. It would…solve a lot of potential problems. By joining the Watch, Jon would forfeit any claim he might have. It would be a shield Jon could use to protect himself should his true lineage ever become known. But Ned knew that if he pushed Jon into the Watch…then his sister would be waiting for him on the other side with a blunted and rusty mace. "The Watch will be an option for Jon." Ned said before fixing his wife with a flat stare. "However, I will not force it upon him. Should he choose the Watch of his own free will, then the men of the Watch will be bettered with his presence. If not, then I shall help him find a place to better serve his brothers. Be it as a bannerman, or as a Master of Arms. But the choice will be his alone."

Cat did not look the least bit pleased by this. "As you wish, my Lord." She said gracefully before rising to her feet and making her way towards his solar door.

"Cat." He called out, stopping her just as she was reaching for the bolt on the door. "I love you. We may not have married for love…but there is no other women I would ever want to call my Lady wife other than you."

Cat's hand hesitated for a moment before sliding the bolt to the side and opening the door. "And I you, my husband." She said as she walked out the door, leaving him alone once again in his solar.

'_Why does it feel like I haven't gotten any headway on that particular topic?'_ Ned thought to himself as he got up and bolt the door shut before returning once again to his desk. Opening one of the drawers in his desk, he pulled out the Stark Grimoire and opened the book to the next blank page. The one right after Torrhen Stark's final entry.

Dipping his quill in the ink well, Ned gathered his thoughts before leaning over and pressing the tip to the blank page. '_Entry of Eddard Stark. Second born son of Rickard Stark. Lord of Winterfell, Warden of the North and Lord Paramount of the North. Year 289 After Aegon's Conquest and the kneeling of Torrhen Stark. By the Old Gods and on my honor, what I say next is the unknown truth revolving around the fall of the Targaryen Dynasty…and the lies that brought about its end.'_

* * *

Sneaking into the darkened godswood, Jon could honestly say he felt…well…lighter than ever before. The past week had almost seemed like a gift from the Gods. First his room was moved back so he was once again with his siblings. Then he was allowed to return to his lessons with Maester Luwin and Ser Rodrik. And while he still found himself struggling to keep himself at pace with his brother and Theon, he was just glade to be included in the pack again. And best yet, Robb was even standing up for him! The day after he returned to his lessons the Greyjoy had made a comment about his status and before he could say anything Robb quickly jumped to his defense. To know that his brother truly cared about him…Jon couldn't describe the feeling.

The only thing that brought his spirits back down slightly was when his Lord Father had called upon Robb, Theon and himself the day prior. A man had been brought to trial for raping a young woman and murdering her husband in Wintertown. Instead of taking the Black, the man had spat on his Lord Father's offer. So, as was tradition in the North, his father carried out the sentence with his own hands while Jon, Robb and Theon watched. Jon had always heard of war and men dying…but seeing it happen…to watch as a man was alive one moment and then dead the next. It was something that no one could've prepared him for.

His father had excused the three of them from their lessons for the rest of the night and sent them all back to their rooms with instructions to think on what had happened that day. Robb was quiet the entire time and Theon…for some reason the older boy almost seemed to find the beheading amusing. And while Jon had been shaken slightly by what'd happened, he had to push it to the back of his mind. It'd been a week since his last visit to the godswood. And tonight was the night he was supposed to return.

Making his way down the path, Jon felt his heart begin to race as the weirwood finally came in sight. '_This is where it all started.'_ He thought, making his way to the ancient tree. '_And this is where it will continue.'_ Placing his hand on the tree, Jon closed his eyes and thought hard on who he wanted to see. "Lord Potter."

The wind almost seemed to come from nowhere before dying after only single quick gust. "You don't need to call me Lord Potter. Harry will do simply enough."

Turning, Jon nearly smiled as he the man who'd helped him locate the sword calmly walked towards him. "Will you teach me how you do that?" Jon asked excitedly. "How you just…appear out of the air like that!"

His mentor merely smiled. "One day Jon, when you are ready. Apparating, or teleporting if you will, is a highly complex and quite frankly dangerous mode of magic. If you don't have proper control of your magic, you could very well send your body to different locations. And that really isn't good for one's health to send their head to White Harbor while their torso goes to Winterfell would it?"

Immediately, Jon was brought back to the beheading that he'd just witnessed the day prior. "No…it really wouldn't be."

Harry paused and tilted his head. "Ah, I see. You witnessed Lord Stark dispensing justice today, didn't you?"

Nodding, Jon sunk down onto the roots of the weirwood. "I thought that you could see everything?"

Harry chuckled slightly as he sat down next to Jon. "I told you last time Jon. I'm not a god. I'm just a very very old and tired man. And while I can see quite a bit, making trip like this one to meet with you is…taxing for me. But, seeing as how we probably aren't going to get anywhere until we get this out of the way, what are your thoughts on what you saw today?"

Biting his lip, Jon stared down at the calm waters of the hot spring. "I…I don't know. I mean, I know he had to die. He broke the law and he wouldn't take the Black. But it was still…I don't know how to describe it."

The two stayed silent for a short time as the leaves gently rustled around them. "Do you understand just why it was Lord Stark that had to deliver the sentence?"

"Because ours is the old way." Jon answered immediately. It was what his Lord Father had told him and Robb after he'd passed the sentence. "He said that it was only right that the man who passes the sentence to swing the sword and listen to the condemned last words."

"It is also so that you don't become too comfortable simply sentencing someone to death." Harry said as the two continued to sit. "Many Lords sentence thousands to die yet never actually witness the death nor do they have any part in the execution. That disconnect makes it easy to simply say, 'kill them because they did wrong'. So, by taking the role of the executioner, you are taking the full weight of the sentence into your hands. And you may not be so quick to kill someone for even the slightest offense. Does that make sense?"

"Yes." Jon nodded. It did make sense.

"Good." Harry nodded, patting him on the back. "Now, let's get to your lesson, shall we? And I hope you're not going to be too busy tomorrow, cause you're about to become more tired than you ever thought possible."

Grinning eagerly, Jon shot up to his feet and faced his mentor. "Are you going to teach me how to conjure fire? Or maybe ice? Or maybe create a gust of wind? Oh, can I make a dragon as well? Are there incantations you need to teach me?"

Throughout his barrage of questions, Harry merely sat on the roots of the tree with a slight grin crossing his lips. "Take it easy Jon." Harry said as Jon finally ran out of breath and had to take a break from his questioning. "In time perhaps you will be able to do…some of those things. But for now, we're going to start simple. You see that rock there? Pick it up and set it on the tree root next to me."

Grabbing the fist sized stone, Jon picked it up and set it down next to his new mentor. "Um…now what?" He asked, staring up at Harry, that wasn't very hard.

"Now knock it off the root." Blinking at the task, Jon reached out to knock the rock off the root, only to stop as Harry's arm shot out between him and the stone. "Without touching it."

Now Jon was really confused. '_How am I supposed to move the stone without touching it?' _"That's…impossible. How can I move something without touching it?"

The moment he said it, Jon knew he'd sad the wrong thing. "If that is what you believe," Harry said while shaking his head. "Then apparently I'm wasting my time here. There are two key aspects of magic Jon. Intent and will. You must focus your intent on what you want to happen and then you must excise your will upon that intent. Many will use incantations hand movements to help concentrate on their intent and will, but honestly, they're not needed. So right now Jon, you need to focus on what you want to happen. Clear your mind and focus your intent on making that rock before you move."

Kneeling onto the ground, Jon tried to focus entirely on the small rock sitting just in front of him. Biting his lip, he started breathing heavily as he stared at the rock, thinking that it needed to move. Jon wasn't sure just how long he knelt there in the dark, but no matter what he did or how hard he focused, the rock stayed still. Almost as if was mocking him. "Relax Jon." Harry said, startling him slightly as his mentor knelt next to him. "You trying to do magic Jon, not take a shit. But…perhaps we're going about this wrong. I want you to think on this. What were you feeling that day when you went from the courtyard to the ramparts when you were running from the dogs? I want you to think back on that day. Think of what you were feeling exactly. Once you find it, hold onto that feeling, then focus your intent and exercise your will onto the rock."

Thinking back, Jon tried to focus on just what he'd feeling that day. Mostly, he'd just been scared for his life. He remembered that he wanted to get away, more than anything as the dog started nipping at his heels. "There," Harry said softly, "that feeling there Jon. Focus in on that feeling. Your intent was to get away and it was all you were focusing on. Now transition that feeling to this rock here. All you want is for that rock to move. Focus. And make that rock move."

Staring at the rock, Jon thought back to just what he wanted. He wanted…no…needed to get away. He needed this rock before him to move. "Damn it." Jon grunted as he gritted his teeth. "Just…. move!"

A rush of wind flowed through the godswood, billowing Jon's cloak around him n response to this shout. The stone on the root teetered slightly as it rocked back and forth twice be falling off the edge of the root. "I did it!" Jon shouted, jumping up to his feet and throwing his hands in the air. "I – I actually…actually…" Darkness edged in quickly in the corner of his eyes and the next he knew the ground was rushing up to meet him.

* * *

Staring down at the passed-out boy, Harry couldn't help but to shake his head in mirth. '_Well…that's one way to go about it.'_ He chuckled to himself as he reached down and placed his ethereal hand onto the boy and apparating the two of them into Jon's room and placing Jon on his bed. '_But still,'_ he thought as he used his magic to arrange the boy so that he was comfortably underneath his covers. '_I wasn't even expecting him to be able to access his magic consciously just yet. Even with my slight prodding. It seems that the bloodlines of Stark and Targaryen were indeed what was needed for the future. Now, time to start laying down the other ground work that needs to be done.'_

Leaving Jon's room, Harry cloaked himself so that he wouldn't be disturbed as he made his way through the ancient keep. Pausing out in the hallway, Harry pressed his hand against the warm stone walls of Winterfell. '_Even after all these years Bran, you still amaze me.'_ Harry thought with a smile as he let his hand fall away before continuing his way. '_You took what I said to heart and tried again and again before you got this keep just the way you wanted it. But like you said last we spoke, it's a shame that few have done anything to update Winterfell or Wintertown. Well…hopefully we'll be able to start changing some of that.'_

Arriving at his first location of the night, Harry ghosted through the door and found himself in the spacious room belonging to the Heir of Winterfell. The Heir himself was sound asleep in the large bed that easily could've fit three of him. '_He may have the look of a Tully.'_ Harry thought as he stepped up beside the sleeping Robb. '_But, even after only observing him for a few weeks I can tell that he is pure Stark. The Young Wolf, that is what Luna claims you will one day be called young man. Although the future is always in flux and the only thing truly certain about the future is uncertainty. But…let's see if we can't send you on the right path to create a name for yourself. After all, it won't do for your cousin to claim all the potential credit for strengthening the North.'_

Holding his hand above the sleeping boy, Harry very carefully slipped into his mind just barely enough to slip a few suggestions into his subconscious before slipping back out again. He'd barely spent an instant in the boy's mind, leaving behind only a few suggestions and nothing that would in any way alter the boy himself. '_I still hate doing that.'_ Harry thought with disdain as he stared down at the sleeping boy. '_It reminds me way too much of a meddling old fool from a lifetime ago. But at least the difference between the two of us is that I would never do this to bend someone to my will.'_

Leaving the Heir of Winterfell to rest, Harry then made his way through the great keep and towards the Lord's chamber. Arriving at the Lords Chamber, Harry averted his eyes after only a quick glance around the room. Lord and Lady Stark were both on the bed and, judging from their state of undress, had only recently finished enjoying one another's company. Fighting down the none-too-slight swell of annoyance that rose within him whenever he thought of the current Lady Stark, Harry made his way over towards Eddard Starks solar and ghosted into the room.

The Lady Stark reminded Harry far too much of his time as a child and living under the thumb of the Dursleys. Part of Harry, a very small part, understood where Catelyn's displeasure with Jon came from. In this society, women were bound firstly to their husbands and then to their children. Without Eddard as the ruling Lord of Winterfell and without Robb as the Heir, Catelyn basically had no power. No standing. She would be out on her ass or forced back to her childhood home in shame. Should Jon ever try and take Lordship, it would leave Catelyn with nothing.

But of course, that whole idea was ridiculous. One need only spend a single day with Jon to know that he loved his 'siblings' and would never do anything to bring them harm. But Catelyn didn't see that, she only saw a bastard. A stereotype that'd only been reinforced by her upbringing. The same upbringing that she was trying to force on her daughters even though she was basically in a completely different land with different rules and traditions. And not once had she truly tried to adapt to her new life, instead forcing everyone around her to adapt to what she wanted.

Forcing thoughts of Catelyn Stark out of her mind, Harry made his way over towards Ned's desk. With a wave of his hand, the drawer containing the grimoire of House Stark opened. Lifting the book up with his magic, Harry set it down on the desk top and started rapidly flipping through the pages until he found the one he wanted. Altering the runic array within the book so that the next time it was opened it would come to this particular entry, Harry then put a mild compulsion on the desk and set the book back into he drawer and closed it. '_Hopefully that will push Ned in the right direction as well.'_ He thought looking around the office.

Despite not being raised or even properly trained to become the next Warden of the North, Eddard Stark had done well for his House and the North as a whole. He was an excellent battle commander and an overall good man. His downside however was the same that'd been plaguing the North for some time. Stagnation. He didn't push things. Didn't want to upset the status quo, so to speak. Hopefully, with the passages Harry picked out for him and with his son coming up with ideas, Eddard would start pushing things and advancing the North rather than allowing them to stay as they had been for the past several hundred years. Not too mention the few other little advancements he'd arranged to arrive in the North hopefully within the next year or so.

Feeling that he'd done everything that needed to be done, Harry drew on his magic and took to the sky, flying over the North faster than the eye could follow and pausing only briefly as he slipped through the magical array that coated the Wall and the space surrounding it. Once he was North of the Wall, he quickly found his next target as he spotted a large weirwood tree on a hill. Lowering himself to the ground, Harry sunk into the ground and made his way into the tunnels that weaved through the roots of the weirwood. Deep within the roots of the tree, he found his target.

The old man that'd long since almost become completely one with the weirwood roots tilted his head up. "My my…the Master of Death himself has deemed to come and pay me a visit…in spirit at least."

"Nice to see you as well Brynden Rivers." Harry responded. "How's it hanging?"

The bastard son of King Aegon IV rolled his eyes at Harry's crude joke. "Very funny Potter. But I know that you have not come here to crack jokes or to reminisce of old times. You want to know what I can see."

"Yes." Harry nodded, not even bothering to hid it. While Harry's power was considerate, far more than the Brynden, he was limited in what he could do now, Brynden wasn't. "I need to know where the Night King is. How long do we roughly have before he reaches the wall? That sort of fun stuff."

Luna had given him an approximation, and usually she was spot on with a lot of her predictions. He trusted Luna explicitly. But Harry was never one to do something halfway and he wanted conformation on what she'd told him. Leaning his head back against the tree, Brynden's eyes went white as he warged into the aether. After only a scarce few seconds his eyes returned to normal. "Ten years…at the best."

Nodding, Harry rubbed at his chin. That was exactly what Luna had predicted. "And the Free Folk? I take it that Mance Ryder is still working on unifying them?"

"Yes, he is." Brynden nodded. "But it is a slow process. Even with the knowledge of what is nipping at their heels, the Free Folk still refuse to work with one another. And even once they are unified they-"

"- they will need to convince everyone south of the Wall about what they're running from." Harry finished for Brynden, knowing full well the up hill battle they had before them.

Harry had to give it to the creature, the Night King was smart. He waited patiently in the far North, shoring up his defenses so that he was beyond even Harry's considerable reach. He waited, patiently, for him and his army to disappear into myth. And now that Harry's power was waning and the magic of the realm was dying, he was now making his move. It was cold and calculated.

"We will just have to do what we have too then." Harry said as he gathered his magic. "See ya around Brynden."

Before the Bloodraven could say farewell, Harry removed his presence from the cave North of the wall and within an instant he was back in his own cave. The moment his power came back to him, he nearly fell over as exhaustion took hold. It was only by using the Elder Wand, that was now a long staff, to support himself that he was even able to retain his balance. "That was a lot long of a trip than last time Harry." Susan called out to him from the darkness.

"There was a lot to do." Harry said, coughing as he struggled to grab the small cup next to his bed. "But the plans are now in motion. All we need do is wait. And at least now the Starks may actually make use of all that gold and all those jewels that I put into the Vault that've just been sitting there collecting dust for nearly three millennia. I still can't believe the Starks haven't spent even a fraction of it! I mean, I'd almost be insulted if I wasn't so impressed at their restraint and foresight not to spend everything we gave them at once."

"And what of the son of fire and ice?" Daphne asked from behind him. "Is he what you hoped he would be?"

"He's that and more." Harry confirmed as he drank the water in his cup. "The kid has a good heart. And more than that, he consciously used his magic tonight. Nothing more than pushing over a teetering rock. But everyone must start somewhere. He's exactly the one that we've been waiting for."

"Perhaps his sigil should be a phoenix." Luna said with mirth. "Although I do find the image of a dragon-wolf to be quite exotic. I wonder what he'll pick when the time comes."

"Speaking of time." Ginny pipped up from in front of him. "How much longer do you think you can hold this up Harry? You're using more and more power with each visit. Even if Jon was able to consciously use his magic, it will still be years until he is ready. And with everything that you're doing to prepare for what is to come…well we were talking and-"

"No Ginny." Harry said firmly, staring off in her direction. "I've told you all this before. I will not abandon you four and pick new Angels."

"You may not have a choice Harry." Susan added softly. "We all love you, in your own way. And we understand what failure means. You're using a lot of power trying to set things up, which is what needs to happen. And if by choosing new Angels gives you the chance-"

"I said no!" Harry shouted, rising to his feet and nearly falling over again. "When one bonded to the Master of Death leaves the bond…they are sent to the Void. No end. No beginning. No hope. Just an endless wall of darkness for all eternity. I will not allow you four to suffer that torment. I've already forced you all to suffer enough as it is."

The four women didn't say anything as the cave descended into silence. "Harry," Ginny said softly, and he could almost feel his wife's presence near him. "We love you. All four of us. And if you have to let us go to continue on then-"

"Ginny." Harry said, cutting her off. "I will not hear of this anymore. I have strength enough to last for several more years at this pace. Soon Jon will be ready…and the moment he is we'll call him here and give magic the chance to be reborn."

"And what if he chooses differently?" Daphne asked.

Laying down fully on his bed, Harry felt sleep clawing in on him. "Then we will just have to begin again…but know this. No matter what girls…I will not allow you four to suffer the Void."

* * *

"-awake Jon."

Jolting upright, Jon shook his head as he tried to clear it. Blinking his eyes, he was greeted with the sight of Maester Luwin staring down at him with Robb and Theon both off to his right trying unsuccessfully to hide their grins. "I'm Maester Luwin." Jon said, forcing himself to focus. "Um…what was the question again?"

Maester Luwin however did not look to be in a forgiving mood. "Perhaps young Jon, if my lessons are so boring to you, you might find a better use for your time?"

"No Maester." Jon said quickly, shaking his head. "I mean, your lessons are important Maester. I just didn't sleep well last night."

"What use are these lessons to him anyway?" Theon asked with a cocky grin. "It's not like they'll do the bastard any good anyway."

Robb reacted immediately to the insult, backhanding the older boy in the arm with as much strength as his eight-name day frame could muster. "Do not talk to my brother like that Theon." Robb said firmly, glaring at the older boy.

"Boys." Maester Luwin cut in before Theon could retort. "This is neither the time nor the place. Robb, you shouldn't resort to violence like that when someone says something you find even remotely insulting. Many will do so in your time as the Heir and future Lord of Winterfell. You must learn to ignore such insults. And Theon, you best remember Lord Starks proclamation. Continue to needle Jon in such a manner and you will be mucking out the stables with your bare hands. And Jon, try and stay awake, and if you can't then don't bother coming to my lessons. Now, if that is all taken care off, let us continue. I asked you three how you would solve a potential bandit raid on a neighboring town. Now Jon, what would your response be?"

Rubbing his eyes, Jon tried once again to focus in on the task at hand and not just what he'd been up too the night prior. "Send out a dozen guards and investigate the claim. See what damages were done to the village offer aid and have the men report back with their findings before sending a larger force out to deal with the bandits."

"By the time you did all of that bas – Jon. The bandits would be far away, and you'd never find them." Theon scoffed, which made Jon's temper flare slightly.

"And you would know all about how bandits operate, wouldn't you Greyjoy?" Jon shot back with venom.

Theon's eyes blazed as he stood up from his seat. "And what is that supposed to mean bastard?"

"Theon! Jon! Sit down both of you!" Maester Luwin shouted at the both of them, making Jon realize that he'd jumped up to his feet the same as Theon. "If you both don't behave, I will have the both of you mucking out the stables for a week and then some!"

Sending one last lingering glare at the Ironborn, Jon resumed his seat and began working through the lesson that his mentor had given him the night prior. '_Clear your mind…focus on the present. Ignore the outside world.'_

"What if we didn't have to send men out?"

Robb's voice cut through the tension in the room making Jon, Theon and Maester Luwin to turn and face Robb as one. Only Robb wasn't looking at any of them. Instead he was staring off into the distance as if he were deep in thought. "And how would you do that young Lord Stark?" Maester Luwin asked, seemingly genuinely interested.

Blinking at suddenly finding himself the center of attention, Robb loudly cleared his throat before continuing. "Well, it's like Jon said. The best course of action would be to investigate and aid the village. But Theon is also right in that by the time we did that and marshaled a force together in order to deal with the bandits, they would've disappeared to the wind and would no doubt be planning their next move."

"Indeed." Maester Luwin nodded. "It is a troubling thought, which is why I asked it of you three. Now, tell me how you would react to something like this?"

"By acting before it could happen." Robb answered as if the answer was the simplest thing. "If we could root out the bandits before they attacked or before they could disappear, we could save a lot of lives."

"But then how are you planning on acting before marshaling your forces young Lord?" Maester Luwin pressed, seemingly interested. As was Jon. Seeing Robb in such deep thought, it wasn't something that Jon had necessarily seen before and it, intrigued him.

"By having a force that constantly roams the land." Robb answered slowly as if he were measuring the weight of each word before he uttered them. "Men like our House Guards, that are sworn to us. Only instead of staying here in Winterfell with us all the time, they would constantly be on the move throughout the North, much like the Nights Watch who send rangers north of the wall to forestall any potential threat of the wildings. Why couldn't we have something like that?"

Maester Luwin blinked at Robb, and Jon found himself staring at his half-brother with a grin. It was a good idea, at least to Jon it was. But judging by the look on Maester Luwin's face, the elder man didn't necessarily agree. "While it might seem a good idea young Lord," the Maester began slowly. "You have to think of the ramificaitons of such a force. While the Starks are the Lord's Paramount and the Wardens of the North, the Vessel Houses like the Karstarks, Boltons, Umbers, Glovers and so on might not appreciate the idea of men not loyal to their Houses roaming their lands. Not too mention there is the cost associated with such a force. How would you train them? Supply them with weapons? Armor? And who would this force be composed of? Noble sons? Levies? Where would you house them? How much authority would they be granted while not on Stark lands? Such thoughts must be taken into consideration. It is not a bad thought, young Lord. But it is one that I fear is out of reach. Now, let us move on to numbers."

Despite the Maester's dismissal of the idea, Jon kept turning it over again and again in his head as the Maester taught them their numbers. To Jon it was a sound idea. Despite the Wall, Wildlings still raided their lands and bandits still roamed free. If a group of men were dedicated to securing their lands like the Rangers of the Watch, it would be well worth the cost at least in Jon's mind. Going through the motions of solving the number problems the Maester assigned to each of them, Jon carefully thought out a response to each of the Maester's concerns and by the time the three had been dismissed for the day, Jon felt as if he had found at least a few answers.

"Robb, wait." Jon called out to his half-brother as the they left the Maester's quarters. Making sure that he had his half-brother's full attention, Jon waited until Theon was well out of earshot before continuing. "Robb, I think that you should take your idea to fath – Lord Stark."

Robb blinked at him before shaking his head. "No. You heard the Maester. It wasn't a good idea."

"Yes, it was Robb." Jon insisted. "Think of it. The North is the largest land, the Lords can't always send their men out to deal with everything. If we had rangers whose only responsibility was to deal with the problems of bandits and wildlings, it would be worth the price."

Turning his head to the side, his half-brother bit his lip. "What about the other things Maester Luwin brought up?"

Scratching at his chin, Jon started to go through the list he'd organized in his head. "Well, as for who the rangers would be composed of, I would say the small folk. Think of it, if we give them a steady source of coin, some would jump at the opportunity. And for housing, well…maybe we could build houses or something like that for them in Wintertown. And as for the biggest concern, the coin to fund them." Looking around the make sure they were truly alone, Jon leaned in close. "There was a lot of gold and jewels within the Wolf Vault. I'm sure even after doing all of this we wouldn't even put a dent in what was down there. And some of those jewels looked interesting. And you know how much the Southerners love their pretty trinkets. They would probably buy them by the fist full just to say they have them."

Jon could see his brother's mind turning as he thought over what Jon had said. Slowly, a grin started to form over Robb's face. "They would…wouldn't they? Let's go tell father!"

Jon wanted to run off with his half-brother, but he held himself back. "Robb…" He said, his mind turning back to the conversations he'd had with his mentor at the godswood. Robb was to be the future Lord of Winterfell and the Warden of the North. If this idea could garner Robb some support for his future as Lord…then Jon didn't want to intrude. "This is your idea. You're the future Lord of Winterfell…it should be you that brings this to fat-Lord Stark. Not I."

Robb stared at him. "Jon…you're my brother."

Jon felt himself smile at the proclamation. "Aye, and you're my brother as well Robb. But you're a Stark. And I'm…I'm just a Snow." Amazingly, saying that didn't bother him as much as it had just a few weeks prior. "I'll always have your back and help you out brother…but this idea should be yours."

The corners of Robb's lips twitched upwards slightly before he nodded to Jon and went to move off. He made it only a few steps before stopping and turning back around. "Jon…should this happen…will you be my first Ranger?"

Jon felt his heart beat faster as he stared at his brother as a smile slowly worked its way onto his face. "Only if I don't get a better offer first Stark."

* * *

The sun had long since gone below the horizon, yet Eddard Stark was still wide awake and sitting at within his solar staring into the dying embers within his fireplace turning a small glass of wine in his hand. Usually he did not partake in drink, but this day warranted it. The day had been…strange to say the least. After breaking his fast and returning to his solar to start his day, he was struck with an urge to read the Stark Grimoire. He wasn't even sure where the urge had come from or what'd pushed him to open to the page that he had, but after spending the morning reading several passages from the ancient book, he was left with several idea's that he'd been tempted to try and implement in the North.

And then the truly odd thing had happened. Robb had come calling on him with an idea that he'd come up with during his lessons with Maester Luwin. '_Rangers he called them.'_ Ned thought with some mirth as drained the last of his cup. '_Amusing…seeing as how that was exactly what Rodrik Stark, father of Torrhen Stark, had called them as well. What are the odds that the same day I would read about these supposed rangers in the Stark Grimoire would be the same day that my son would come to me with an identical idea?'_

Getting up from his seat, Ned made his way over to his desk and the pitch upon it and poured himself a second glass. Taking a slight sip, he stared down at the Stark Grimoire. '_It was almost as if this was the will of the Old Gods themselves.'_ He thought as he flipped open the book to the page, he'd read this morning. Rodrik Stark was a man of few words, this much Ned knew after reading a few of his entries which, in total, numbered no more than a dozen pages. But this one entry comprised nearly eight of those pages.

Within those pages the former King of Winter had left detailed descriptions of how he wanted to create these Rangers that would ensure security for the North. He also made plans for their training regime, which he'd designed after enlisting several sell-swords from Essos to train his levies should the need for war come to the North again. He also made plans for barracks, armoring, numbers and specialties. He'd even comprised a plan on how to ensure they properly funded after their creation and how to get his vessel Lords to agree to the proposal.

But before he could figure out a way to fund his creation and fully enact this plan, Rodrik Stark had taken ill suddenly and passed. Leaving the mantle of Lord Stark to his son Torrhen. And Torrhen was far too concerned with the dragons to the south, who'd just made landfall on the mainland of Westeros, to truly set about creating the Rangers his father had envisioned. '_And now my son, who is not even nine name days old has come up with a possible solution for how to create these Rangers.'_ Ned thought with a frown. '_Although that is not entirely true. It was Jon who came up with the idea but insisted that Robb would be the one to bring it to me.'_

The Wolfs Vault. '_Honestly.'_ Ned thought, shaking his head in mirth. '_One would think that I wouldn't forget about such a find so quickly. But I went and did just that.'_

The Vault was positively packed with riches. The chests within the room were all far more spacious than they appeared on the outside. And most were filled completely with gold coins. But what was truly strange about the coins was the fact that they were not gold dragons. The coins were slightly heavier and had a strange mark upon each that Ned hadn't been able to decipher. The other few chests that were not filled with gold coins were overflowing with jewels and trinkets that looked incredibly valuable. And then there were the swords and pieces of armor within the vault. While none of them were of Valyrian quality, nor of the same quality of Wolfs Blood, they were still far beyond any castle forged steel that Ned had seen before.

'_I'm going to have to eventually take a full inventory of just what is down there.'_ Ned thought with a frown. '_There is no telling just what is actually down there. And I may have to take some of the weapons to Mikken to get them properly appraised. Should their worth be equal to that of Valyrian steel, they might make for good gifts to my bannermen to help ensure their loyalty.'_

Sitting down at his desk, Ned lit another candle before flipping back through the book and opening the passages that detailed the creation of the Rangers that Rodrik Stark envisioned. Pulling out a few blank pieces of parchment, Ned began transcribing down the passage from the former King of Winter. '_There is magic within this book.'_ Ned thought as he worked, putting down all the notes from Rodrik and adding a few of his own. '_Any doubts I had of that have now been put firmly to rest.'_

Earlier while he was reading the tome his Cat and called upon him and, despite having the grimoire out on his desk and in plain view, she seemed to completely dismiss its very existence. Even when he tried to show her something within, her eyes would scan the page and immediately leave it as if the words on the page held no interest to her. The implication was…troubling. '_One of the earliest entries within this grimoire noted that the book was handed to our family by the 'Master of Death'.'_ Ned thought as he continued transcribing the page. '_At first I was willing to dismiss the claim. But now, after seeing what seeing just what this book is capable of…what he if truly did exist? Or more, what if he still existed? Was the Bloody Crusade more than just a legend? The Septons and Septas of the Seven surely preach as if it did not happen. But…what if it did?'_

Hearing a knock on his door, Ned paused in his writing. '_Let us see if this grimoire truly does have some sort of magical properties to it.'_ "Enter."

The door to his solar opened slowly, allowing Maester Luwin, Ser Rodrik and Jory Cassel. "Thank you for coming so late." Ned said as the three men made their way into the room proper. "I will make this brief as the hour is late. Maester Luwin. I heard that my son had an interesting idea this morning during his lessons, did he not?"

His question almost seemed to put the old Maester off balance for a moment. "Yes my Lord, he did."

Nodding, Ned motioned for him to continue. "What was his idea Maester?"

"He expressed an interest in creating a group of knights to patrol the lands of the North." Luwin explained. "His idea was…sound in some respects. However, there were many things that he had not accounted for and I believed the idea would one best left unattended for now."

Pushing the grimoire across his desk and towards the three men, Ned leaned back in his chair, giving the three a clear view of the book and its contents. "He is not the first Stark to have these thoughts."

Watching their reactions carefully, Ned frowned as he watched as all three men's eyes fell upon the book for only a moment before immediately moving off of it. '_Just like Cat.'_ Ned thought as the three men remained silent. "Forgive me, Lord Stark." Ser Rodrik said slowly. "But…is there something that you wish to show us?"

Sliding the book back towards him, again noting how none of the three even seemed to register him touching it, Ned then gathered the sheets of paper he'd been writing on. "Rodrik Stark, father of Torrhen Stark had these same thoughts." Ned said as he handed the sheets of parchment over to the men to look over. "He was actually incredibly detailed in their creation, training, their objectives, where they would be housed and how they would operate. But before he could fully implement their creation, he died of unknown causes and the title of Lord Stark passed to Torrhen Stark. And he was far too concerned with the Targaryen's conquering the southern lands to fulfill his father's plans. But now, I intend to belatedly follow through on my ancestors' designs."

Passing the papers back and forth between one another, Ned watched as each of them looked the plans over. Ser Rodrik and Jory both looked highly intrigued by the idea. However, Maester Luwin wore a steadily deepening frown on his face as he read. "Forgive me, Lord Stark." Maester Luwin said as he continued to flip through the pages. "While these plans are incredibly well founded, I fear the coffers of Winterfell are will not be able to sustain this…in-depth of a project. Especially with winter only less than a year behind us and with the recent Iron Born Rebellion, our coffers are not what they once were. And it will take some time to replenish them. Unless you plan on raising the taxes on the land."

"There will be no need for that." Ned replied calmly as he rose from his seat and made his way towards the fireplace where Wolfs Blood sat, suspended on the wall. "I will have your vows on your family's names and honor that what I say next will never leave this room. Not even the Citadel can know about what I'm about to tell you."

"You have it, Lord Stark." Ser Rodrik and Jory Cassel replied almost immediately.

Maseter Luwin hesitated only a moment longer before conceding. "My oath is to the Lord of Winterfell, Lord Stark. Not the Citadel. You have my word that nothing that is said shall pass beyond this room."

Placing his hand upon Wolfs Blood, Ned took his time in continuing as he measured each word. "The day Robb and Jon found Wolfs Blood…they found more than just the ancestral sword of House Stark. Then found a hidden cache of riches that'd been left untouched since the time of Torrhen Stark, perhaps longer."

Leaving the sword, Ned walked back to his desk and pulled out the large coin purse he'd filled with coins from the Wolfs Vault. Dorping the heavy leather pouch on the surface of his desk, he pulled out a single coin and flipped it to the Maester. "Maester Luwin, tell me what you can about these coins."

Daftly catching the coin, Luwin took his time as he examined the coin carefully. "This…weighs far more than a standard dragon my Lord." Luwin said as turned the gold coin over in his hand and between his fingers. "It's thicker, but the same width across. I would have to weigh it out to be certain my Lord, but I would think that this coin would be worth perhaps upwards of one and a half dragons. But the markings…I don't recognize this mark at all. It doesn't bare the standard markings of Westeros nor does it bar the mark of the Iron Bank. Where did you find these my Lord?"

"I know not of their origins." Ned replied. "But there are several chests overflowing with these coins down in the Vault, and more."

The three men's eyes all widened at the amount. "My Lord," Ser Rodrik said slowly. "With so much coin it would be easy to see these plans through to fruition."

"That is not all I plan to do with it." Ned continued. "I want you three to begin estimates on three other projects. One, extending the walls of Winterfell around Wintertown. Last winter dozens within Wintertown died due to the cold. If we extend the walls of Winterfell to encompasses the town it will provide a buffer against the wind for our people. And give Winterfell and extra layer of defense should, gods forbid, it even come under siege. Second, I we are to see about the creation of more glass gardens. And third, I want to start reconstruction of Moat Cailin."

"My Lord." Maester Luwin interjected. "I can understand the creation of extra walls and glass gardens. But the realm is at peace. There is no need to rebuild the Moat. And Wintertown is scarcely populated now in the spring and summer years, creating a wall will do little good for the residents. Plus, we must be frugal my Lord. Even with this…unexpected boon of a second Vault, our coffers are not limitless."

"That is why I want estimates first Maester." Ned replied calmly as he retook his seat, took out a new sheet of parchment and began to write. "And as for the reconstruction of the Moat, while it is true that we are at peace we never know how long that might last. And the more solid structures we have in the North the more locations our people will have to gather once winter comes. And winter is coming. Plus, I have three sons, and gods willing more on the way. I must look to the future and find keeps for them to claim."

Finishing his writing, he carefully blew on the parchment to dry the ink before handing the sheet over to the Ser Rodrik. "These are orders allowing for the creation of the first phase of the Wolf Rangers. Spread the word. Volunteers only. But make sure that they know that the oaths that they take will be for life."

"I understand Lord Stark." Rodrik nodded, takin the sheet from him and reading it over. "I will send out the notice immediately."

"Good." Ned nodded before turning to Luwin. "Maester Luwin, please begin your examinations of the other tasks I've laid out. Take my sons with you as well when you do so. It will be good learning opportunity for them. That will be all."

Given their tasks, each man bowed slightly and made their way out of his solar. Once he was alone again, he ran a hand down his face. '_Unfortunately,'_ he thought with a slight sigh. '_That was the easiest part. Now comes the next part, convincing my bannermen that these changes I wish to implement will indeed be for the betterment of all of us.'_

* * *

Standing on the bow of the ship that was rocking violently in the rocky waters, a nearly ten-name day Talisa Maegyr stared with interest at the lands before her. '_This is to be our new home.'_ She thought, staring despondently at the lands before her. '_It's…bleak. But has a certain beauty to it I suppose. Still, slavery is outlawed here in Westeros, I suppose that means something. Mother, gods rest your soul, always spoke so ill of the Westeros nobles. I guess we will soon learn if she was speaking the truth or not on the matter.'_

The past few years had not been kind to the Maegyr family. While they were a small noble house within Volantis, they were still nobles. All that had changed the year prior when her brother had nearly drowned, only to have been saved by a passing slave who, knowing, would be killed for simply touching a noble. That single act had caused something to change within not only Talisa, but her father as well. From that day forward, the Maegyr family no longer kept slaves and they made that fact well known to the rest of Volantis. Of course, that proud stance was what also caused their fall. As the other nobles, not wanting the status quo to change, descended on their family like a pack of ravenous dogs.

Their small family fortune disappeared almost overnight. Her mother murdered on the streets by an unknown passerby. By the time the year came to the close, their only possessions were a few valuables her father managed to secure and the clothes on their backs. And now, here they were, on their way to Westeros with the hope of rebuilding their families name.

"Talisa, you shouldn't be out on deck right now."

Straightening her back, Talisa kept staring out at the slowly approaching landscape. "I can see land father." She said, holding her head up, not willing to be defeated by the rocking of the ship.

Coming up beside her, Talon Maegyr stared out at the spec on the horizon that would hopefully become their new home. For a while, the two didn't say anything to one another as they stared outwards. "It's colder than I thought it'd be." Her father admitted after several minutes of quiet.

"Will…will we find a home here father?" Talisa asked slowly. "Mother…she never had a high opinion of the people of Westeros."

Her father snorted. "Your mother didn't really have a high opinion of a lot of people Talisa. But, while she might not have thought the best of most of Westeros, even she could not deny the honor and integrity of the Starks."

"But, will they even hear us out?" She asked, casting a look around at the various sailors working around the ship. "I was…listening to some of the sailors and they said the Northern people weren't very welcoming to people not of the North. That we were on a fool's errand."

"That is true, in a twist way. But I do not believe this to be a fool's errand." Her father nodded. "From the few reports I have; the North are not very welcome to those who come to their lands and try and change them. We're not looking to do that my daughter. We're merely trying to start a new life. And with what we have with us and our knowledge, we should be able to broker some sort of deal with the most 'honorable man in Westeros'."

Talisa couldn't help but scoff. Even at only nine-name days she'd heard plenty of stories about Westeros. Particularly about the recent rebellion that saw the Targaryen's removed from the throne and forced into exile. And her mother was quite vocal about just how the Westeros people view women in their society. "I'm not sure how much that is saying father."

Her father immediately rounded on her. "Do not let your mother's prejudices cloud your judgment Talisa. And the North is not like the other lands in Westeros. They do not have the same expectations or tolerances."

Biting her lip, Talisa shivered as a cold gust of wind blew around her. "I still don't know why we couldn't have gone to Dorne. The weather would've been warmer at least."

"True." Her father admitted. "But we wouldn't have anything to offer the Dornish to try and establish ourselves. Not saying that what we currently have will be enough to truly establish ourselves in the North, but it will give us a better start there more so than anywhere else in Westeros. Now come Talisa, it's cold out here and the Captain just informed me that it'll still take us a day or more to reach White Harbor from here. And your brother is hoping that you tell him another story."

Casting one last glance at the land that might soon become her home, Talisa turned on her heel and followed her father into the lower levels of the ship.

* * *

**A/N: So…I can already hear some groans about bringing Talisa into the story. But honestly…I liked her character and thought it an upgrade from Jayne in the books. Plus, this opens up other opportunities. Now…will Robb marry her…that remains to be seen as, like I said, I'm kinda flying by the seat of my pants and making this up with only the barest of outlines in my head.**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: So, just gonna keep this short and sweet. Thank you so much to everyone who has added this story to their favorites or are now following the story. I really appreciate your support! And please feel free to leave a review…just be polite. I've already had to report and block a few users…and I hated doing it. So please do not follow suit. If you don't like this story, then just leave well enough alone and honestly go away. I'm doing this for fun. Not for troll bait. Constructive criticism is acceptable, just let me know what it is for. Simply saying 'your grammar sucks' doesn't help. Please give an example of where my grammar was incorrect and what would be the correction.**

**HP and GOT do not belong to me, sadly. Hope that you all enjoy and have a good weekend!**

* * *

**Chapter 4**

Reading over a report that Maester Luwin had provided him, Ned couldn't help but feel a sense of accomplishment as he reached the bottom of the page. It was almost as if the old gods had blessed their house upon the return of Wolfs Blood and the Stark Grimoire. In the six months since their return, Ned had enacted several changes within preview of Winterfell based on his readings from the ancient book. And so far, every single one of his changes had had a positive influence. The creation of a small hamlet on the White Knife near the Kingsroad by the juncture leading to Winterfell had cut down on travel time to White Harbor as they could now use long boats to traverse river for trade between Winterfell and White Harbor.

The formation of the Rangers had also been met with surprising support. After sending the ravens to his vassal Lords informing them of their creation, he'd received back multiple replies with promises of support through either financial means or through the sending of levies to bolster their ranks. According to the numbers given to him by Jory Cassel, the volunteers were already numbering nearly fifty strong. And while that number was still but a fraction of what Ned wanted, it was a good start. But it would still be some time until they ready to be deployed as, according to Jory, most of the volunteers didn't know the difference between a sword and ass. But even still, the fact that their formation was met with more praise than concern was a boon for their future.

Then there were the smaller projects he'd commissioned around Winterfell, namely small farming communities that were still in their infancy. Unfortunately, none of those communities were in use yet and it would still be a year or more at best until they saw any turnover from the land. While there was plenty of land available in the North, the trouble was finding food that would grow in the harsh climate. To that, he'd put a call out to the all the North encouraging anyone who might have a viable crop to come forth and present themselves. Should their options prove fruitful, they would be reward accordingly.

The results of those actions had seen a quick influx of people back into Wintertown. Usually during the spring and summer years it wasn't uncommon for only third of the houses within the town to be populated. But now, the two was nearly half full and more were coming with each day. It was promising. More people meant more hands to work the lands. And the more hands they had the better yield might be which would lead to a better chance of surviving the coming winters.

The next issue that needed to be dealt with was the wall around Wintertown. With the expansion of Wintertown and the potential for growth, Ned had had Luwin start surveying the land a far distance away from the nearest buildings. It wouldn't be near the same size of the walls around Winterfell, but they still needed to be at least twice as tall as a man to provide proper protection for those within. Grabbing a fresh piece of parchment, Ned began drafting a letter for House Wull of the mountain clans. If they were to be building a new wall, they would need the stones to do so. Which meant a new quarry was needed.

Just as he finished the draft, the door to his solar opened. Standing just within the doorway was his Lady wife Cat. "Ned," she said, closing the door behind her as she made her way in. "Are you planning on spending the whole day in here?"

"I haven't been here too long." Ned replied as he began to re-read over his drafted proposal.

"Ned." Cat said evenly. "You've been in here since before the sun rose and it is now nearing the horizon."

Blinking, Ned turned in his chair and stared at the dying light coming through the windows in his solar. '_By the gods…how long have I been sitting here?'_ "I didn't realize that the hour had grown so late." He replied as he set the letter aside and twisted his head, cracking his neck in the process.

Crossing the distance between them, Cat made her way behind him and placed her gentle hands onto his shoulders and pressed down. "You're working incredibly hard my Lord." She said as she began to press down on the knots in his shoulders. "You've done much these past six months…but even Bran the Builder took his time on his creations Ned. You need not do everything today. Come, let us go for a walk. Your son is practicing in the yard today and your absence has been noted."

"Aye. You're right." He conceded, taking one of her hands and pressing the back of it to his lips. "And some fresh air would do wonders for me right now."

Organizing the last few pages he'd written into a stack on his desk, he rose from his seat and offered his arm to his Lady before leading the two of them out of his solar. Soon the two were out on the ramparts overlooking the courtyard where Ser Rodrik was overseeing the training of Robb and Jon while Theon stood off to the side practicing with his bow.

Making their way to the railing to better watch, Ned felt a smile come upon him as he watched Robb and Jon trade blows with one another with Ser Rodrik keeping a careful watch on both while barking out commands and techniques for them to use. Standing silently with Cat, Ned watched as Robb managed to slip through Jon's guard and get a solid hit in against his torso. "Robb is in good form." Cat said with no small amount of pride in her voice as the two boys separated before beginning another bout.

"Aye, he is." Ned nodded as he watched the two boys.

After receiving a clean hit during the last bout, Jon's defenses rose and the flaw that was in his technique that allowed the hit was gone as if it was never there. Narrowing his eyes, Ned carefully watched every move Jon made. As the bout progressed, Ned noticed something. Jon was holding back. As much as a boy his age could deliberately hold back that was. It wasn't much, but it was there. Jon was matching Robb strike for strike and step for step and never anything more. And when Robb quickened his pace, Jon matched it almost perfectly yet did not exceed him.

Soon enough the inevitable happened and Jon forced Robb on the back foot and his first born missed his step and slipped. Jon, to his credit, didn't hesitate and landed a blow against Robb's exposed torso as he was falling to the ground. After Jon helped Robb back to his feet, Ned held up his hand, catching Ser Rodrik's attention. "Hold boys." The Master of Arms said, stepping between the two. "Your Lord Father has something to say."

The two boys turned as one and looked up at him. "Well done, both of you." Ned said, congratulating the two boys. "Robb, you need to watch your footing. Many a man have died because they lost their footing during a fight. Always be mindful of your surroundings. And Jon…you do yourself and Robb ill by holding yourself back like you are." Robb seemed startled and turned to Jon, while Jon merely stood there biting his lip. "On the field of battle men will not care if you are a highborn or a lowborn. They will fight to kill regardless of your station. If you hold back now, how will your brother be ready for such a moment? Go again. Only this time do not hold back."

The two boys squared off against one another once again, and immediately Ned could spot the difference between the two. Jon's stance was firmer. His grip better and his eyes far more focused. Robb acted first, slashing high at Jon's head. But Jon merely shifted his weight back and let the strike pass by harmlessly before striking Robb on the inner thigh forcing him to his knee before bringing his elbow up so that the tip of his practice blade was pointed down at the base of Robb's neck.

The entire courtyard was encased in silence as everyone stared on, slack jawed, at how easily Jon had bested the Heir of Winterfell. "By the gods Jon…that was incredible!" Robb shouted, breaking the silence as he limply got back to his feet and stood side by side with Jon. "Just what I'd expected of the future leader of the Rangers! Now…show me that move that you just did! Ser Rodrik, how would you defend against such an attack?"

Pushing himself up from the bannister, Ned didn't need to look at his wife to know that she was glaring daggers down at Jon. "Come," he said, holding out his arm in offering, hoping to put a stop to any unpleasantries before they could begin. "Let us continue our walk Cat."

Sparing one last glance down in the yard, where Jon and Robb were moving step by step through the series of moves, Cat took his arm and purposefully turned her back on the yard. "I suppose it is good the boy is skilled with a blade." Cat said, surprising Ned by her complement. Which was of course immediately set aside as she continued. "His skills will be appreciated at the Wall in time."

Ned nearly felt like banging his head against the warm stone walls of Winterfell. "By the gods Cat." Ned growled, pulling to a stop and fixing his wife with a look. "Jon is not out to depose Robb or any of our children. He loves Robb and Bran like they were true brothers and he loves Sansa and Arya like no others. And there will be no more talk of Jon going to the wall. If he chooses to do so, then the Watch will be for the better. If he chooses to stay and find a place within the Rangers, then the Ranges will benefit. But the choice is his and his alone. And I will hear no more it."

He could almost feel the ire rolling off his Lady wife as she met his gaze with one of her own. "As you say, my Lord husband."

'_I know that tone._' He thought. '_She has conceded for now, but this conversation is not over._' Just barely managing to keep himself from groaning allowed, Ned once again offered her his arm so they could continue. Wanting to put the topic behind them, Ned moved on to a topic he knew she would enjoy. "Tell me. How have Sansa and Arya's lessons coming along?"

At that, Cat's mode instantly turned around as she smiled brightly. "Sansa is well on her way to becoming a perfect lady according to her Septa. Arya however…she has caused several problems. She has skipped a few lessons and she has refused on several occasions to do the tasks assigned by Septa Mordane."

Ned couldn't help but draw parallels to another young woman of the Stark Household that refused to bend to what was expected of her. And more specifically on the path that it led her down. "She has the wolf's blood Cat." Ned stated. "We will talk with her and she will be punished for skipping her lessons. But I fear the more we push her to do or act a certain way the more she will resist us."

Cat's lips tightened in their all to familiar tell. "Still, I dread thinking of the task ahead of us of turning Arya into a proper woman. I only pray that Septa Mordane and Sansa's influence will help to steer her on the right path to becoming a proper noble lady of a great house, as is her station."

For not the first time, Ned was seriously starting to reconsider his position on allowing a Septa to teach his daughters. They were daughters of the North. Ice ran through their veins. While not publicly, the displeasure of his vessel houses when knowledge of a Septa teaching the future daughters of House Stark was well known. '_Perhaps I need to take my daughters to the godswood and teach them myself.'_ Ned thought as they continued to walk ramparts out into the open.

As they were making their way back towards the interior of the keep, Ned noticed Maester Luwin hurrying towards them, a small scroll of parchment clutched in his hands. "My Lord, my Lady," Luwin called out in greeting as he met up with them. "A raven from White Harbor my Lord arrived just now my Lord. I thought it prudent that you be informed immediately."

Taking the small scroll from the Maester, Ned unrolled it and carefully read over its contents. "What is it Ned?" Cat asked, staring down at the parchment in his hands.

Not quite believing what he was reading, Ned reread the message for a third time before lowering it. "Lord Manderly reports a ship recently arrived from Volantis. On board was a Lord and his children. And they are now on their way to Winterfell to speak with me."

Both Cat and Maester Luwin looked perturbed by the idea of Volantis nobles on their way to Winterfell. Not that Ned didn't blame them, he shared their reservations. Volantis was a well-known slave state within Essos. And the idea of their nobility coming to his home was not high on Ned's list of wants. "For what reason would they have to come to Winterfell Ned?" Cat asked.

Reading over the note for the fourth time, Ned met both Cat's and Maester Luwin's eyes before answering. "They wish asylum here in the North."

* * *

Trying his best to not appear as tired as he felt, Jon forced himself to stay as upright as possible as he followed his father, brother Theon and a routine of Stark guards out of Winterfell and into Wintertown on foot. It'd been over seven months since that fateful night in the godswood when Jon's life was completely turned on its head. Part of Jon still couldn't believe some of the things that he was being taught by his mysterious mentor. What he was being taught seemed to be more at place in one of Old Nan's tales rather than in actual life. And more than once, Jon questioned if what was happening was real as he couldn't replicate any of the magic, he was being taught during the daylight hours no matter how hard he tried.

But even with these doubts, Jon still snuck out of his room twice a week after the sun had set and made his way to the godswood. And every time he would find his mentor standing before the weirwood waiting for him. And no two lessons from the stranger were ever the same. Some nights they would work on magic. On other nights Harry would teach him history and theories revolving around magic. On those nights, Jon almost felt as if he was taking another lesson from Maester Luwin. The lessons that Harry would give him made Maester Luwin's seem almost childlike in comparison. And then there were other nights where Harry would physically work him to the point where he could barely stand.

The night prior had been particularly brutal for Jon. His mentor, Harry Potter, had not taken it easy on him during their weekly session together. On top of trying, and failing, to get him to replicate moving the rock, Harry had also forced Jon through a series of activities that he called 'calisthenics. Or something like that. And on top of physical training, Harry also kept questioning him on just about anything that seemed to come to the man's mind. History. Mathematics. Strategy. Literature. Everything. By the time their two-hour training session had come and gone, Jon honestly couldn't pick which part of him was sorer. His mind, or his body.

But after six months of lessons, Jon was starting to notice a change in himself. Despite having only passed his ninth-name day a week prior, Jon's thin frame had filled out and now he could easy match Theon in the yard blow for blow with their practice swords. And during his lessons with Measter Luwin, Jon found himself holding his tongue often to prevent himself from answering any questions before his brother had a chance to figure them out.

Nearly knocking into the guard to his left, Jon shook his head and forced himself back to the present as he followed the procession out of the gates of Winterfell and into Wintertown. As the passed beyond the walls, Jon was reminded that he wasn't the only thing that'd changed recently. Normally during the spring and summer months less than half of the two was populated. But five months ago, Lord Stark had set forth several projects that encourage work in and around Wintertown. From the formation of the new Rangers, who already had at least thirty volunteers according to what he'd overheard from Ser Rodrik, to the funding of several new small farming projects around Winterfell. Lord Stark had also sent out a decree three months ago encouraging those who had ideas that could benefit the North to come forth and present them to Lord Stark personally, and should the idea have worth, they would be granted a sizable sum or even a boon provided it was reasonable.

These decrees had created a surge of influx into Wintertown. And while the town was still nowhere near the same population it was during the winter years, it was still far more populated than normal. There were dozens of merchants within the main district of town selling their wares to the several dozen more that were loitering around in the streets. Jon was still too young to remember what the town looked like during the summer years, but according to the whispers he'd heard going throughout the Winterfell, it was almost unheard of for this many people to still be in Wintertown.

As their group made their way into the streets, the smallfolk took immediate notice of them and began moving aside, leaving a clear path for them to make their way. As they walked, occasioning Lord Stark would pause to look at whatever the vendors were selling and once or twice he'd paused their procession long enough to walk up to the merchant and talk with them. Usually these exchanges would only last for a few minutes before his Lord Father would pull out a few coins and pass them over to the merchant before collecting his purchase and handing it off to one of the guards before continuing his way.

When they were more than halfway through the market, his Lord Father stopped at one stall that had attracted quite a bit of attention. The market stand wasn't much, a single cart that looked to be barely holding together and only a few small casks that were only slightly bigger than a man's head. Standing before the cart was a man that looked similar in age to the Lord Stark, only he had several long streaks of white in his ill-kept beard. "Good day, Lord Stark." The man said, bowing slightly as Jon's father approached the man and his wares. "This is truly an honor m'lord."

Standing off to the side, Jon watched along with a curious Robb and a disinterested Theon as Lord Stark inspected the small casks the man had around him. "Fare day to you as well." His father intoned, staring at the small barrels on the man's cart. "What's your name and tell me, from where do you hail?"

"Me name is Haggar, m'lord." The man said softly. "Me family has a small farm just before the base of Northern Mountain ranges just north of the Wolfswood."

"A fair distance to travel." His father nodded. "Tell me, what is within these barrels?"

"It's a family recipe m'lord." The man responded, opening one of the small casks and dipping a wooden spoon within and extracting an almost honey like substance from within. "Me family, my grandfather discovered this when he was…well he was well into his cups m'lord. And he, well he started licking a tree. The sap from the tree. He claimed it tasted good. So, we began looking at the trees on our small farm. We found many leaking sap. So, we started collecting it an trying to use it. And…well we found it tastes quite good like this. We call it syrup."

Dipping his finger on the underside of the spoon to collect some of the strange substance, the man let it coat his finger before sticking it in his mouth. Only after the man showed no adverse reaction did his father take the offered spoon from the man. His father examined the spoon and its contents for nearly a full minute before coping the actions of the merchant.

One of Harry's many lessons to Jon had been how to read what he called 'body language'. It was almost like reading a book, only you read a person. Jon didn't really understand just what the point of the lessons were however until just then. His father was always a stern man. His demeanor hardly ever changed. But after tasting the strange substance, Jon noticed a few slight changes. It wasn't much, merely the slight quirking of an eyebrow and the slight shifting of his weight. But just from those slight signs, Jon could tell that whatever that substance was it impressed the Lord Stark immensely.

"Interesting." Lord Stark said, handing the spoon back to the man. "You say that this, syrup, is made from the sap of trees?"

"Yes m'lord." The man replied nervously, obviously not picking up on the slight changes from Lord Stark and becoming more nervous because of it. "We, well we found that it has to be a specific type of tree m'lord. While many produce sap, only a few are capable of making our syrup."

"What is the yield you are capable of?"

The man seemed to be perking up slightly at the interest that Jon's Lord Father was paying to him and his wares. "We only have," pausing, the man looked down and started counting his fingers. "We only have eight trees that make this sap m'lord. But each year we can get 'bout ten ta twenty or so casks from each tree. We then boil it down until it's like this m'lord. And the amount goes down a lot to get to this point. So two trees can make this one cask per year m'lord."

Looking over the cask, which honestly didn't look that large to Jon, Lord Stark started scratching at his chin. "Is there anything else you can make from this sap?"

"Yes m'lord." The man replied eagerly as he moved back to his cart and pulled out a small wine skin from his belt. "This is a fortified drink we make from the sap m'lord." The man explained as he poured a small amount into a cup. "It's far more fortified than wine. Me pa called it whiskey."

Taking the offered cup, Jon watched as his father raised it to his nose and sniffed its contents before taking a slight sip. Over the years Jon had watched his father and other men drink a lot of wine and ale, but he'd never seen anyone react like his Lord did as Lord Stark coughed and shook his head after only a single sip. "That is…definitely strong." His Lord Father agreed as he handed the cup back to the man. "Tell me, how many casks do you have of this syrup?"

"Six m'lord. And two wine skins of the whiskey."

Jon's eyes nearly bulged as his father pulled out two gold dragons from within his tunic and handed them over to the merchant. "Have a full cask delivered up to Winterfell along with a wineskin of whiskey. Also, I wish to speak with you further on this. Present yourself to the guards in Winterfell tomorrow evening and they will escort you to I."

The man's eyes nearly bulged out of his head. "Yes m'lord!" Haggar nodded eagerly. "I'll be there m'lord. Thank you!"

Leaving behind one of the House guards to bring the purchases back to Winterfell, Jon once again fell into step behind his half-brother as their father led them further through Wintertown and towards the newest addition to the town. The barracks that would one day house the Rangers was still in the early stages of construction as dozens of laborers milled around the planned build site digging trenches and laying out lumber and preparing mortar for the walls. In the yard in front of the future building were the fifty or so men that would one day soon make up the first divisions of the Rangers and at the head of the yard leading the men was Jory Cassel, the man who'd been appointed to train the first wave of the rangers. The future Rangers were all facing off against one another in sparing practice with training sword and shields.

Stopping just outside of the perimeter of the yard, Jon watched on as Jory relentlessly drilled the fifty men who, up until a few months ago, more than likely didn't know one end of a sword from the other. But now, after nearly six months of almost daily drilling, the twenty volunteers looked like they could give match the Stark House Guards. "Keep you shield up idiot!" Cassel yelled at one of the men who'd just taken a hard hit to his head. "It if that was a real blade, you'd be missing the top half of your fucking skull! And you! You're not hiding behind your shield your holding it! Start again and this time – hold! Form up! Lord Stark is here!"

Jon was incredibly impressed that each man responded immediately to Jory's command. Within mere seconds all twenty men that'd been sparing ceased and formed two lines leaving a small space between each of man so they could set their shield and training blade onto the ground. Only once all the men were standing still did Lord Stark approach. Following a few paces behind his Lord Father, Jon watched as the Lord Stark too his time inspecting the Rangers. After walking down the line of men, his Lord Father came to a stop next to Jory. "Very impressive Jory, these men are in fine form." Lord Stark congratulated Jory, who stood up straighter at the praise.

"It is your training that is proven most effective, Lord Stark." Jory replied. "I've merely been the instrument of your will."

Nodding, Lord Stark continued his inspection. "How long until you feel the first division will be ready?"

"A month, maybe two at most my Lord." Jory replied with confidence. "Then they'll be a match for any Wildling, Iron Born, bandit or shinny southern knight."

"Good." Lord Stark replied before stopping and turning towards the barracks. "And what of the barracks?"

At that, Jory hesitated. "They are coming along slowly my Lord. Your training is such that the men have little chance to help the laborers. The men have been resting in the vacant homes within Wintertown for now."

"Then it is time to change that." Lord Stark said calmly before addressing the Rangers. "Your training is done for the day. Assists the laborers in construction for the next few days. Go."

"Aye, Lord Stark!" The fifty men chorused as one before picking up their training equipment and moving them to storage before moving to aid the builders.

Jon half expected that they would be heading back to Winterfell, but his Lord Father surprised just about everyone when he proceeded to take off his sword belt and overcoat. "My Lord?" Jory questioned as everyone watched the Lord of Winterfell approach the building project.

Folding his coat around Wolfs Blood, Lord Stark handed the pile to one of the House guards. "Robb, Jon, Theon." He called out to the three of them as he moved to help an obviously startled and semi-scared laborer move a large wooden beam into place. "Make sure that the men have whatever tools they need and that the water buckets are constantly full. If none of you are sore by night fall, then you have not properly done your part."

The men of House Stark hesitated only a minute due to shock before each started to shed their weapons and heavy over cloaks before moving to aid their Lord. Even Jory shed his cloak after instructing one guard to stay back and guard their clothes and weapons, specifically Wolfs Blood, as if his very life depended on it. Jon and Robb were both quick to follow their father's example as both moved quickly to try and figure out what the two nine-name day boys could do to aid full grown men in the construction. Theon was not as quick however and only moved to help after receiving a few harsh words from Lord Stark.

The day passed incredibly fast after that as Jon and Robb ran back and forth doing whatever they could to aid the men as their Lord Father stood in the thick of it with the small folk. The only break in the day happened just passed midday when food was brought out to all the men who helping to build. And even then, Lord Stark didn't leave, he stayed with the small folk, sitting amongst them and eating the same food as them. Jon felt his respect for his father rise even higher as he watched how easily his father interacted with the small folk. How he listened to them before offering his own console on whatever matter was brought before him. Jon honestly felt good about the work they were doing. His muscles were starting to ache, a different ache than the one he'd receive from Ser Rodrik or Harry, but it was a good ache. But even with the aches and pains, Jon wouldn't want to be anywhere else at that moment.

Of course, not everyone was pleased by what they were spending their day doing. Theon was quite vocal about his displeasure, but only when Lord Stark was out of hearing range or otherwise distracted. "Fucking hells." Theon muttered as he tried the food that'd been provided to them before spitting it out. "What is with this shit?"

"It's food Theon." Jon replied, eating his own portion without complaint.

Theon fixed him with a glare. "No shit its food bastard. But I didn't mean that. I meant why are we out here scouring in the fucking mud like this? This is no place for us for fucks sake."

Jon had half a mind to club Theon over the head, but thankfully he didn't have too as Robb stood up quickly. "Don't call my brother that again Theon." Robb hissed lowly. "And as for why we're out here, well look behind you and tell me what you see?"

Turning his head, Jon saw Lord Stark sitting amongst the small folk, eating their food and listening to them as they ate. It's was almost reminiscent of the few times Jon was allowed to watch his Lord Father hold court. Only this seemed much less formal. Obviously, Theon jumped to the same conclusion. "If your father wanted to hold court, there are easier ways that forcing us to work like common fools."

"That's the point Theon." Robb explained. "Father told me about a tradition the Starks have had for a long time. Where every now and then the Lord Stark goes down and works with our smallfolk on whatever is going on around Winterfell or Wintertown. He told me it's to teach us that even though one day we will be lords, to never forget that our people beneath us are just like us."

Theon scoffed, but Jon took the meaning to heart. It was a similar lesson that Harry had given to him just a few weeks ago. '_Always remember Jon. There is not much that separates you from those you might consider the 'smallfolk' or the 'common people'. You want your family to not only survive but thrive. And you bleed just the same as them. But where you differ is that your birth gave you an advantage as well as a responsibility. And the moment you stop caring about those you might consider beneath you, is the day that you no longer deserve the power you have'._

Finishing off the last of his food, Jon rose to his feet and prepared himself to get back to work when he spotted something far off. Coming up the Kingsroad was a small contingent of riders in front of two drawn wagons that were not nearly large enough to be any sort of carriage that Jon had seen before.

Breaking away from Robb and Theon, Jon ran over to where his father was sitting amongst the smallfolk. Standing a respectful distance away, he waited until his Lord Father noticed him and waved him closer. "What is it Jon?" Lord Stark asked.

"Riders Lord Stark." Jon explained turning and pointing south down the Kingsroad. "There are riders approaching from the south. I didn't' see any banners either."

His Lord father's eyes narrowed slightly before widening in understanding. "Ah, I see. There here sooner than I expected." Rising from his spot, Lord Stark turned to the small folk gathered around him. "Gentlemen. I wish you all good day."

A chorus of 'Lord Stark' rang throughout the men as the smallfolk started to pack up their belongings and resumed their previous tasks. Moving away from the construction, Lord Stark motioned for Jory and their House guards to join him.

"Father." Robb said, finally catching up to them just as their father swung the cloak over his shoulder and tightened his sword belt around his waist. "What's going on?"

"Visitors son." Lord Stark answered succinctly. "From Volantis."

Jon saw Robb's eyes narrow as Jon was sure his own where doing as he tried to place the name to a location. '_I don't recognize that name.'_ Jon thought as he fell into step behind his half-brother, who was walking side by side with his father. '_I don't think it's anywhere in the Seven Kingdoms…are they from Essos?'_

The prospect of meeting someone from across the Narrow Sea perked Jon up as a wave of excitement ran through him. Outside of Harry, he'd never met anyone from outside the North. And truthfully, the only things he knew about Essos was that the Iron Bank was from Bravos and there were raiders known as Dothraki that resembled the Wildlings to an extreme degree, at least according to Maester Luwin that was. '_I wonder if they follow the Old Gods or the New? Or maybe they have their own gods they follow. Do they bastards in Essos? Have they fought against the Dothraki? Would it be possible to travel with them back to Essos?'_

Forcing his excitement down, Jon stood resolutely next to his half-brother and their Lord father as the riders slowly approached up the Kingsroad. As the group drew steadily closer, Jon was able to just barely make out the man in the lead. He looked to be the same age as father, but that was as far as the comparison went. Where father was a large man, the man on the horse seemed slim in comparison. He also had dark hair and closely trimmed dark beard. But what truly surprised Jon was his skin. It was…darker than any other skin than Jon had seen. '_Not everyone in the world is the same Jon.'_ He remembered Harry telling him as he watched the riders getting closer. '_There is a long theory that would take years to explain to you but suffice to say that when a people settle a land over time their bodies will adapt to the land to make it easier for them to survive. It is why people here in the North are stockier compared to those in the South. And sometimes those changes can include varying skin coloring. But this is very important Jon. It doesn't matter if a person is big or small or what color their skin is. They are still people. And deserve the same respect as everyone else.'_

When there was less than a few dozen paces left between them, the man in the lead held up his hand to stop the caravan before swiftly dismounting from his horse. As the caravan came to a stop, Jon noticed a girl maybe the same as age as he and Robb jump down from one of the carts before helping a boy down who looked to be about Arya's age maybe slightly younger. But judging by the way the man in the lead waited for the two, Jon assumed that they were his children. Once the three of them were together, the man who led the caravan stood up straight and approached Jon's father.

"Lord Stark, I presume." The man stated more than asked as he and his two children came within a few paces of Lord Stark. "It is an honor to meet my Lord. Your reputation proceeds you."

"Lord Talon Maegyr." Lord Stark nodded. "Welcome to the North. I must say, I was not expecting visitors from Essos any time soon. Let alone from Volantis."

"Indeed." Lord Talon nodded. "No doubt because of Volantis's well-known reputation for slavery. Have no worry Lord Stark, every man and woman with me here today is here of there own free will and not a slave. In fact, almost all here were former slaves that family saw freed. Which is why we are here today. And, forgive me for saying this, but that wound is still fresh and painful."

Jon watched carefully as the two children next to the Lord shifted their weight awkwardly back and forth. "I understand." Jon's father nodded. "The past is often full of pain."

"Yes, it is." Lord Talon agreed before motioning to the two behind him. "But forgive me, I have not introduced my children. This is my eldest, Talisa." He said, motioning to the girl that looked to be same age as Robb and himself before waving towards the younger boy. "And this is my son, Tolar."

Out of the corner of his eye, Jon saw his brother near gaping at the girl as she curtseyed. '_Oh Robb…'_ Jon sighed, thinking back to one of his early lessons with Harry. '_It's too bad that your fate is not your own. Now I can see why Harry said that I have more options than my brothers and sisters.'_

"-my son and Heir Robb." Jon shook his head and focused back on the present as he heard his father introduce Robb. "This my son Jon Snow. And this young man is Theon Greyjoy, Heir to the Iron Islands and ward to House Stark."

Lord Talon's reaction was not necessarily what Jon was expecting. He nodded politely to Robb and seemed to know the name Greyjoy at the very least. But when Jon was mentioned, the man politely nodded to him as well. '_Do they not understand what the name 'Snow' means?'_ Jon thought as his father and the foreign Lord continued to exchange pleasantries. '_Maybe they don't. They are from the other side of the Narrow Sea. Do they not have bastards in Essos? Or do they simply not care?'_

"-rooms have been prepared for you and your children in Winterfell." Jon heard his father say. "Rooms have been readied here in Wintertown for your entourage as well Lord Talon. We did not bring horses with us today so let us walk and talk on our way to Winterfell."

"Thank you, Lord Stark." Lord Talon nodded as he fell into step with Lord Stark. "I don't mind walking at all. Months on a ship and days on end in a saddle, my legs will be grateful for the exercise. And I hope that soon you will have the time so we can talk about my proposal."

"Of course, Lord Talon."

Falling into line behind Lord Stark and Lord Talon, Jon had to hide a grin as he watched his brother awkwardly hold out his arm and offer to escort the young Lady Talisa to Winterfell. '_Oh brother.'_ Jon thought with a grin as they walked towards the ancient seat of House Stark. '_Just wait until I tell Sansa and Arya about this. You'll never be able to live it down.'_

* * *

Finding himself once again in his solar, which was becoming a more frequent occurrence than he could remember even his Lord Father doing, Eddard Stark sat opposite Lord Talon with Robb sitting off to the side of the room with Cat and Maester Luwin. Robb was there to learn from Ned how to deal with such a situation should it arise when he eventually became Warden of the North. And Cat was there to keep an eye on Robb and offer her own advice as well. "So, Lord Talon." Ned began as he poured the two of them a glass of water. "Tell me, how is it that a nobleman of Volantis ends up coming to Northern Westeros looking for asylum? There will be no repercussions for granting you such will there?"

Picking up the offered cup, Lord Talon took a small sip of the water before setting it back down. "My family has always been on the outer edges of Volantis nobility." He explained with a far off look in his eyes. "And a few years ago, an event happened that pushed us even further out. My son nearly died. And if it wasn't for a passing by slave he would've. But the slave, even knowing that just touching a noble meant his death, gave my son the breath of life after he drowned in a river. After that, I freed all our house slaves and tried pushing against the social norm of Volantis. In response, my House was made example of. All our assets were confiscated for one reason or another. But still I kept trying to change things. And then just last year, my wife, the mother of my children, was found with the few guards we had left in back alley. All of them had their throats slit."

Ned grimaced. There was a reason he tried his best to avoid southern politics. "You have condolences."

"Thank you." Talon nodded as he took another drink from his glass. "Of course, a slave was blamed. A shame trial and a brutal execution later and almost all the work I'd put in over the course of a year was wiped out."

"But how could a single man kill several guards and your wife?"

Both men turned their heads and stared towards the side of the room where a now steadily reddening Robb was retaking his seat after having risen. "Um, sorry if I offended you, my lord." Robb stated awkwardly as Cat rubbed his shoulder.

"There is nothing to forgive young lord." Lord Talon replied kindly. "And your right, a slave couldn't have committed the crime. The entire series of events from the death of my wife and killing of my guards to the execution of the slave was nothing more than a message to me from the higher nobility. In short, they were telling me to stop what was I was doing or there would be further repercussions. So, fearing for the safety of my children, I gathered those who wished to travel with me and what little coin and assets I had left, and we fled Volantis and looked for a place where we could start anew. Westeros, with its ban on slavery, was the most obvious choice. We could've perhaps gone to Bravos, but I feared staying on Essos. But back to your question Lord Stark, about their being repercussions for harboring us, no. As long as my family and I are away from Essos, the nobility of Volantis will be happy enough to pretend we don't exist."

"As you say." Ned replied while scratching his chin. "Unfortunately, I cannot just offer you asylum on my lands Lord Talon."

After everything that'd happened to them over the course history, from the Andal invasions to Aegon's Conquest and the Mad Kings actions, as a rule Northerners were not overly welcoming to outsiders. Especially those from across the Narrow Sea. But instead of being offended, Lord Talon merely nodded as if he'd expected this exact response. "I understand Lord Stark. But I hope that you will at least hear me out. I do not come here as a beggar looking for a handout. I've read as much as I could on your lands, and I know that would not fly with either yourself or your bannermen. Instead, I come looking to make myself and my family useful to the North and earn our place amongst your people. And we are willing to do whatever is necessary to earn the trust of the Northmen. Even converting to the Old Gods if need be."

Now Ned was intrigued. Even though he would never begrudge her for it, not even his wife, the Lady of Winterfell, had full accepted the ways of the North. Leaning forward, Ned folded his hands under his chin. "And how would you make your family useful to the North?"

"Through this, my Lord." Lord Maegyr replied as he brought out the two covered bowls that he'd brought with him to the meeting. Setting both down on the desk, the Volantis noblemen lifted the cover off from one, revealing a bowl full of a grain like substance.

Leaning forward in his seat, an action mirrored by everyone else in the room, Ned dipped his hand into the bowl and pinched a few of the granules between his thumb and forefinger. "Grain?"

"Of a sort, Lord Stark." Lord Maegyr explained. "This grain is known as rice. It is highly common in the lands of Yi Ti. Several generations ago my family sought to expand our wealth and saw the value of this crop. We imported it to Volantis and learn everything we could on its cultivation. Unfortunately, the lands of Volantis are not the most well suited for the crops production, but we were able to produce it all the same. And this is the reason why we came to the North before anyone else. My father and myself have done extensive research on what would perhaps be a good if not ideal place to grow this crop. And we concluded that the lands within the region of the Neck and Riverlands would be best suited for its production."

Now Ned was intrigued. '_The gods must've truly blessed us.'_ He thought, rolling the hard grain between his fingers. '_First this syrup from the Northern Mountains and now the possibility of a new grain crop that can be readily grown here in the North. Is this the way of the gods repayment for what happened to our family during the reign of the Mad King?'_ "And how does one go about eating this grain?"

Grinning slightly, Lord Maegyr moved to the second bowl and removed the covering. This bowl was filled with the rice as well, only it looked to be at least two or three times the size. "Simplest way to prepare it is to boil it in two parts water for each part of rice. As you can see, the rice will then double in size and it is quite edible and filling."

Picking up the second bowl, Ned studied the cooked rice within. Picking up a small amount with his fingers he pinched between his thumb and forefinger, noting how the grain easy broke apart compared to its original hardness before tasting it. '_There's little taste to it…but that matters little during winter.'_ "How long can this be stored up for?"

"Years in it's dried state." Lord Maegyr replied almost immediately as Ned handed the bowl off to Robb, Cat and Maester Luwin to allow them a taste.

"How much can you produce and how long does it take?" Ned asked as he watched his family try the rice.

At this, Lord Maegyr hesitated slightly as he thought over his response. "It will take some time to cultivate the land for the crops. But once they are planted it takes half a year before they are ready to harvest. So, at best we might be able to get two rotations a year. But for production, once the land is cultivated properly, we will be able to produce at least a ton or more of rice per clipping per acre my Lord. And in comparison, my Lord," pausing, Lord Maegyr picked up a palm full of rice. "This is the amount of rice needed to create that bowl full."

Now Ned was firmly impressed. '_This crop alone, while not ending our dependency on Southern crops, will lessen it. Allowing for more coin to stay in the North and maybe even encourage more smallfolk to migrate North. Gods know that we have plenty of land for them.'_ "Very impressive Lord Maegyr," Ned complemented the man.

"Thank you, my Lord." Lord Maegyr nodded back. "And before we continue, I should also say that I brought a craftsman with me that I believe you would find most interesting. And, just to let it be known, his stay is not contingent on my own. He wishes to set up shop here in the North because he believes that his talents will be most appreciated here."

Leaning back, Ned regarded the foreigner carefully. "And what is his trade?"

"He's a glass blower my Lord." Lord Maegyr replied before reaching into the sack he'd brought into the meeting and pulling out a clear flower vase. "This is an example of his work."

Taking the offered vase, Ned had to stop himself from dropping it once he fully realized what he was holding. "This is made of glass."

"Correct my Lord." Lord Maegyr nodded. "He's been in my family's employment for years creating many works much like that vase. But with our displacement from Volantis, he lost he support and so he followed us here. And vases and works of art are not his only capability. He is also able to create panes of glass. Much like those that your glass gardens are composed of."

'_By the gods…what have we done to deserve such blessings?'_ Ned thought as he pondered over the implactions of having an individual that could not only create glass, but could also potentially train others to do so. '_Lord Maegyr said the craftsman stay would not be based on whether or not I grant Lord Maegyr's request. But in the end it is. This craftsman followed him halfway around the world. I doubt if I scorn Lord Maegyr's offer that he will stay as well. And if I do turn him away, where will he go next? The Reach? The Tyrell's would no doubt jump at the chance to have a new crop to hold over us. Or perhaps, gods forbid, the Westernlands where Tywin Lannister would get his claws into him. No. He must stay here in the North. But now, how to accept his proposal without offending my own bannermen by so readily accepting a foreigner into our lands?'_

"I need the night to think over your proposal Lord Maegyr." Ned said, meeting the foreign Lord's eyes. "Come to me at dawn and I will have your answer."

"Of course, my Lord." Lord Maegyr answered, rising to his feet and bowing. "I did not expect an answer immediately. Take your time Lord Stark. Lady Stark. Young Lord Stark. Maester Luwin. I wish you all goodnight."

As soon as the door shut behind Lord Maegyr, Ned turned the other three occupants of the room. "Well?" He asked simply, staring at the three.

"This…is unprecedented my Lord." Maester Luwin said, still staring down in wonder at the new crop. "A new crop, one that can, according to Lord Maegyr, be easily grown in the wetlands of the Neck would be a terrific boon to not only the North but Westeros as a whole. And then that's not to mention the glass maker in Lord Maegyr's employ."

"Aye." Ned nodded, rubbing at his beard. "There is no question as to the worth of the man's offer. Nor of the fac that it would be for the benefit of the North to keep him here rather than say the Westernlands or the Reach. But the fact remains that he has little to no coin available to him, which means he would need support until these farms are producing. So what lands do I give him and how do I offer him support without upsetting my own vassals would could perceive giving such preference to a foreigner as a potential slight against them?"

For the next several hours, Ned and Maester Luwin discussed the potential deal to offer Lord Maegyr with Robb and Cat offering their own suggestions on occasion. By the time Ned finally felt as if he'd figured out the fine line to walk with Lord Maegyr, the sun had already gone well below the horizon and Robb had been sent to bed. '_It is not a perfect deal.'_ Ned thought as he crawled into bed with Cat. '_There is still the potential for some of my vassals to see this deal as preferential treatment to an outsider. But I can only hope that within time, this new crop will help sway my bannermen to see the worth of Lord Maegyr. I just pray that he lives up to the risk that I'm taking with him.'_

The next morning just as the sun was rising, Ned once again found himself in his solar with Lord Maegyr sitting across from him. "I've considered your proposal Lord Maegyr." Ned began fixing the foreigner with a stoic face. "And I've decided to take you up on your offer of lands. However, it is not within my power to grant you full Lordship, that power resides with the King. However, prove yourself within the next five years and I will personally write the King and see that your house is raised to the ranks of Nobility here in Westeros."

Lord Maegyr visibly sagged in relief at Ned's offer. "Thank you, my Lord. I promise you that I shall not give you cause to regret your decision."

"I pray that you don't." Ned responded before pulling out a map of the Northern lands and laying flat on his desk. "Now, you said that your crop would be best produced in the lands of the Neck?"

"Yes Lord Stark." Maegyr nodded, staring down at the map.

Knowing already where to settle the new potential Lord, Ned's finger lingered on the Moat. "This here is Moat Cailin. As you can see it is a strategic point for access to the North and is guarded by a fort that was constructed by the Children of the Forest before the first stone of Winterfell was ever put in place. At the moment I'm in the process of reconstructing the keep and intend for one of my sons to inherit it. I've sent a raven to House Reed, who rule the neck, to inform them that I intend to give you the lands ranging from south of the Moat to here between the Kingsroad and the Bite. For the time being, you will owe your allegiance to House Reed. And once one of my sons takes up residence in Moat Cailin, you will owe your allegiance to him."

Looking over the map, Maegyr nodded to himself as he stared at the lands Ned was pointing out. "I'll have to scout the lands Lord Stark, but I believe that will be perfect. Will I be allowed to create a small harbor on the water front to make it so that I can send crops up the White Knife? It would cut distribution time of the crops to the others significantly."

"If you can afford it, then yes you are allowed to do whatever you feel necessary to increase productivity." Ned nodded before sighing as he knew they'd passed the easy part. "For the first five years of your development, House Stark will also take on your financial burdens. As long as they deemed reasonable."

Maegyr's eyes widened slightly. "Lord Stark…that is quite generous of you. I…thank you. What interest will you set for the loan?"

"None." Ned replied easily, clearly surprising Maegyr. "The North is built on the foundation of fair trade. I will not force you to pay more than you've borrowed. However, due to this I fear that I must insist on…insurance."

He could see Maegyr swallow. "Of course, I understand perfectly my Lord."

"Good." Ned nodded, taking a steadying breath. "Therefore, for the five years that House Stark will be carrying the financial burden, your children will be fostered here in Winterfell and raised beside my own. At the end of five years, your son will be returned to you so he may learn how to rule your lands."

Maegyr was almost visible shaking. "And my daughter?"

"She will remain until at least half of what is owed to House Stark is repaid."

Sagging slightly, Maegyr stared down at the map. "Harsh terms Lord Stark…but better in most respects than I was expecting. I accept your terms."

"Good." Ned nodded, holding out his hand, which Talon Maegyr quickly took as the two men shook on the deal. "I will need an oath of loyalty from you before you depart to your new lands."

"Of course, my Lord." Talon nodded. "But I must ask Lord Stark. You say that you don't want to give preferential treatment to my family or I, yet you are fostering my children. Will not some of the Northern houses view that as sign of your favor even with the understanding of our deal?"

"Some might." Ned conceded. "To counter that notion however, I'm sending out ravens to my bannermen offering the chance for their future heirs to be fostered here at Winterfell for the term of a year. It is my hope that such an act will bond the future lords of the North together."

"Well thought out, my Lord." Talon agreed before sighing. "May I have your leave my Lord? I, I wish to spend some time with my children before I depart."

"You have it." Ned nodded.

Without another word spoken, Talon Maegyr rose from his seat, bowed to Ned, and left his solar to search out his family. '_I do not like separating family like this.'_ Ned thought as he felt a wave of guilt swell within him. '_But this is for the best. Should he live up to his promise, there is a good chance that his future house will be a major asset to the North. And House Stark will need close ties to such an asset.'_

Pulling out a few scraps of parchment, Ned grabbed his quill and started writing. He had a lot of ravens to send out. And if he wanted them to fly anytime soon, he needed to get started on them.

* * *

A week after the arrival of the Maegyr's, Jon found himself once again in the godswood well after sundown talking with his private mentor in the seclusion of the woods. "Tolar is quite shy, but he's starting to open up a little." Jon told Harry as the two sat at the base of the godswood. "Arya is helping in that regard, I think anyway. She is doing a good job of getting him out of his room that is for sure. And Talisa, she's nice. While she knew what a bastard was, she seemed upset by the way bastards are treated here in Westeros so she as really nice to me. Robb isn't too happy about that though. He seems to want Talisa to pay attention to him for some reason. I really don't understand."

Beside him, Harry laughed. "Oh, to be young again. Don't worry Jon, you will understand someday soon. Probably sooner than you think as you highborn kids tend to mature faster than everyone else. Probably because society places so many expectations on and yours that you have no choice but to mature quickly."

Jon wasn't entirely sure what his mentor meant by that, but he decided to take it as a complement. Shifting his position on the roots of the ancient tree, Jon tried to calm his nerves as he mentally prepared himself for the question, he'd been wanting to ask his mentor for some time. "Harry…are you responsible for everything that is happening recently?" He asked, not meeting his mentor's eyes. "So much good has been happening to North and it all started after that day I met you here in the godswood. I know that you're powerful but…are you truly not one of the old gods?"

Peaking up from under the bangs of his hair, Jon was relieved that instead of looking irritated at the question, his mentor was instead looking amused. "Once upon a time Jon, I had the power to do what you say. I could bend the minds and will of men to do what I wanted. But I never did unless absolutely necessary. Now though, now I'm but a shell of my former self. A fault of my own. And as for my interference in the goings on of the North, well I may have whispered a few suggestions here or there. But mostly all that has happened over the past few months has come about with little interference by myself."

"But why now?" Jon asked curiously. "Why are you intervening now of all times? Why not when the Mad King killed my grandfather and uncle? Why not when Rheagar kidnapped my aunt? Why are you only acting now?"

Harry let out a long sigh as he leaned back against the old weirwood and gazed upwards towards the stars. "I told you before Jon. There are rules. Rules even I must follow. And right now, I'm stretching one of those rules to the breaking point. And doing so is incredibly taxing. So much so that I'm but a shell of the man I once was. Had I known about everything that was happening before your birth, perhaps I would've intervened. But, remember one of the first lessons on power that I gave you?"

"With power comes responsibility?" Jon answered immediately.

"Yes." Harry nodded. "Responsibility…but not obligation. Trust me, this is coming from experience. Bad things are going to happen and there is little you can do to stop it. Plus, say I always intervened at the last second to fix every problem. What do you think would happen to the people of this land?"

Thinking the answer over in his head, Jon took his time in answering. "They would come to depend on you?"

"Yes." Harry nodded. "Eventually they would really on me to fix every problem they have and not try themselves. Perhaps a proper analogy comparing myself and you to everyone else who doesn't have this power would be comparing parents to their children. You want to help and sometimes you do need to help them. But other times you must stand back and watch them fail so that they can get up and try again and learn. Do you understand?"

"I think so." Jon nodded, although he was still uncertain. "But then, why didn't you aid the Starks during the Rebellion? You could've made sure it'd never happened!"

"Jon." Harry sighed, coming forward and placing a hand on his shoulder. "There was nothing I could've done to prevent what happened to the Starks back then. In time, I will show you why this is so."

"Then why are you helping the Starks now?"

"Because, as the words of House Stark go, 'Winter is coming'." Harry responded, pulling back from Jon. "And this winter will be more dangerous than anything anyone has seen since the Age of Heroes. A strong North provides the best hope for the future. If the North falls, so to will everyone else. And you and your siblings will have a role to play before everything is said and done. That is why I'm helping now. Now, that's enough of twenty questions. Let's get back to your lessons young man. How are your meditation exercises coming along? Are you able to replicate moving a stone like I've shown you?"

At this, Jon smiled. "Yes." He nodded eagerly before picking up a small pebble and setting it on the root of the weirwood.

Concentrating hard on the small rock, Jon reached deep within himself and felt for the pool within him as he'd been shown to do. '_Move!'_ The rock teetered and then fell off the root.

Smiling brightly, Jon turned to his mentor who was staring at him with a look of approval. "Well done Jon." Harry nodded. "You managed to actively use your magic. And you did it without passing out cold. For your age, that's outstanding. Now, on to the next lesson."

Jon's elation faded as Harry picked up another rock, this one easily ten times the size and weight of the small pebble he'd just spent months trying to knock over. "Now," Harry said, setting the rock on the ground between the two of them. "Levitate, or pick up, this rock using only your magic."


	5. Chapter 5

**Hey everyone! Back again! Sorry for not updating last week, but eh, life. I think I'm going to try and keep to a bi-weekly update schedule as that just makes life a little easier on me, especially with how long I usually like to keep my chapters before posting them.**

**Anyway, hope that you all enjoy this chapter! And I hope that everyone is enjoying the newest season of GOT so far! And as a standard disclaimer, GOT and HP do not belong to me, sadly.**

**Thank you so much to everyone who favorited, added this story to their follows or reviewed. I really appreciate it even the constructive criticism that I got in the last chapter. I do appreciate help as long as everyone is polite about it. Please feel free to leave a review if you feel so inclined!**

**Chapter 5**

* * *

Standing upon the battlements of Winterfell overlooking Wintertown and the surrounding county side, Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, could only marvel at the changes that had come to pass since the recovery of Wolfs Blood and the Stark Grimoire over three years ago. Wintertown may as well have been a new settlement for all the changes that'd been done to it. Homes were updated and reinforced. New barracks which housed the Rangers were situated near the outskirts of the town. And the foundation for a new wall had been laid around the perimeter of the town and was already as tall as fully-grown man.

But the biggest change was in the people that now inhabited Wintertown. No longer was the town sparsely populated during the spring years. Now hundreds milled around the town each day incorporating their trades. Most of the people in the town were not born in the North but were instead the smallfolk of the south who were encouraged by the new opportunities that the North were offering. The rice fields under the direction of Talon Maegyr had exceeded Ned's expectation and within a year of giving the foreign Lord lands in the Neck, the man was shipping dozens of barrels of the rice throughout the North and even started selling the small surplus down to the southern keeps. Combined with the sap and syrup production, backed by House Glover, and for the first time in history the North was exporting crops and produce to the south rather than importing them. His success had impressed Ned to the point that the Warden of the North had decided to escalate their agreement and had hence had Maester Luwin compose a raven to Robert to elevate Maegyr house into the ranks of the nobility.

Turning his back on the expanding populace, Ned turned his attention to his ancestral home. While Wintertown may have changed dramatically, the same could not necessarily be said of Winterfell. Not that there was much to change to be had in the first place outside of repairing some walls or some roofs that had leaks. Bran the Builder truly had built Winterfell to last the test of time. The only true change that Ned had made to his home had been the restoration of the 'Broken Tower'. Although just what they would end up using the tower for was still beyond Ned. Perhaps a meeting tower for the Rangers.

Making his way across the battlements, Ned stared down at the main yard. Unbidden, a smile slowly came across his face as he stared down at the more than a dozen youngsters down in the yard. Robb stood in the center of the yard fighting his best against the towering form of 'Smalljon' Umber while all around them various future Lords and Ladies cheered the two of them on. The Lords of the North had readily agreed to his suggestion of fostering their heirs and spares with the hope of creating a strong bond between the future Lords and Ladies of the North. The only that turned the off down outright was Lord Bolton, and his excuse was reasonable as his son, and only child, was currently fostering in the Vale.

Watching on with a small amount of mirth, Ned chuckled as he watched the Smalljon easily handle his son in the yard. Back and forth the two boys fought, Robb giving as good as he could despite being overshadowed by age, size and experience. Despite the obvious gap in their abilities, Robb was doing well against the older boy, even managing to land blow every now and then, however ineffective that they were against the giant. Eventually, either out of boredom or just wanting to impress the gathering of ladies that were watching the match, the Smalljon disarmed the future Warden of the North and sent him flying to the ground.

The young ladies all gasped, save for Dacey Mormont who laughed outright, but besides that none of them moved from their spot. All save one. Without any prompting, Talisa Maegyr made her way into the ring completely dismissing the Smalljon as she knelt next to Robb. Despite the girls age, she had a natural talent when it came to healing. Unsurprising seeing as how she seemed to prefer spending her time with Maester Luwin rather than Septa Mordane. Ned wasn't sure just what passed between the two, but Robb was shaking his head and trying to regain his feet. That was until Talisa poked Robb's ribs and sent his son back down to the ground gasping in pain.

That proved to be the end of the match as Jon made his way into the ring and help Robb to his feet with Talisa railing against the boy the entire time. '_One would think that such a match between the two was already assured.'_ Ned thought as he stared down at the interaction before his eyes flickered up to the gathering of young ladies standing just outside the ring. '_And while it is a possibility…it is a slim one. And unfortunately, us born amongst the nobility do not have the freedom to follow our hearts desires. A painful lesson that history has shown us time and time again.'_

Despite not being raised to rule and not receiving the in-depth training in Northern politics like his brother had, Ned knew a poly when he saw one. There was no question as to why his bannermen had not only sent their heirs but also their most eligible daughters to Winterfell. They were all vying for Robb's hand and the chance to become the future Lady of Winterfell. Ned found the entire situation quite amusing as his son clearly had no clue how to deal with being the center of attention to so many young ladies. Of course, having so many young Northern Ladies under his roof had also brought another issue to his attention. Just how was he to provide a proper education to the young ladies of the north during their stay at Winterfell. Septa Mordane quickly proved to be insufficient as pretty much every Northern Lady save for Wynafryd Manderyl and Ned's own daughter Sansa held little more than contempt for the Septa and rarely, if ever, listened to her. This had led Ned to reach out to find new teachers for the girls so that they could be properly educated in the Northern sense.

Making his way into the interior of Winterfell, Ned made his way towards his solar already dreading the mountain of parchment that he knew was probably awaiting him from Maester Luwin. As he came upon the corridor leading to his solar, Ned felt whatever good mood he had within him vanish as he saw someone waiting outside his solar for him. "Lord Stark." Septa Mordane curtseyed as he drew close. "I would ask for a moment of your time."

Silently dreading what he knew was coming, Ned motioned for the Septa to follow him into his solar while signaling for the trailing guards behind him to wait. "What concerns you Septa Mordane?" Ned asked as he made his way over to his desk and began flipping through the mound of parchments stacked on his desk.

"With respect my Lord, I must ask that you take the young Talisa Maegyr to task my Lord." The Septa said, cutting straight to the point. "That foreign girl has yet to truly accept the ways of Westeros and is corrupting not only your own daughters but also the daughters of the other Northern Lords. She has even gone so far as to encourage your daughters to not attend my lessons. Arya takes her words to heart, but luckily Sansa is proving a true Lady and resisting her temptations."

Sighing, Ned rubbed at his eyes as he fought back against the ache developing behind his eyes. "Guard."

The door to his solar opened immediately allowing one of his House guards entry. "Yes, my Lord?"

"Go and fetch Talisa Maegyr." Ned said, which made the Septa smile. "And my Lady wife as well."

"Yes, my lord." The guard nodded before quickly leaving the room.

"You have my thanks, Lord Stark." Septa Mordane bowed. "It will take some to time to mold young Arya into a proper lady, as well as the other Northern ladies. But without that foreign girl polluting their minds, I feel I stand a good chance of doing so."

"Sit down Septa." Ned announced, not looking up from his paperwork as he heard the Septa begin to leave the room. "I want you to stay put for what is about to transpire."

The Septa blinked but nodded none the less and took a seat against the wall across from Ned. Luckily, they didn't have to wait long as the door to his solar opened again soon after allowing both his Lady wife and Talisa entry. "My Lord," Talisa curtseyed while maintaining eye contact with him. "You called for me?"

"Yes I did." Ned nodded, setting the paperwork aside as Cat made her way around the room so that she was standing behind him. "The Septa tells me that you are not only skipping her lessons but that you are actively encouraging the other Ladies of the North to do so as well."

Talisa's eyes widened slightly before narrowing as she cast a quick glance towards the gloating Septa. "My Lord…may I freely speak my mind on this matter?"

"I would prefer that you do so Talisa." Ned nodded, setting his quill aside and giving the young girl his full attention.

"Thank you, my Lord." Talisa nodded before pausing and taking a moment as she obviously collected her words. "I have not encouraged the other ladies to skip the lessons, many of the Northern girls that are fostering here at Winterfell have reached that conclusion on their own without my say. But yes, I have stopped going to her lessons because they are a complete waste of time unless your goal is to turn your daughters and the other Ladies of the North into mindless Seven-reciting broodmares that do not have a mind of their own. The Septa teaches us nothing save for how to criticize those who cannot be as good as your eldest daughter Sansa when it comes to sewing or singing. Her lessons on the inner workings of the nobility are nothing more than fantasized tales about how anointed knights are valiant noble men and how they will conquer any and all evil that comes upon them. And her lessons on the matter faith do not include the gods of the North. And while she has not come out and said it, she has all but implied that any who do not follow the Seven are heathens that need to be converted. It is my honest belief that one can learn more during her lessons by staring at the stone walls of the keep rather than listen to her."

By the end of her tirade, the Septa's face had gone completely red from anger. "How dare you!?" Septa Mordane shouted, rising to her feet. "I shall have your behind tanned for your insolence girl!"

"No, you won't. Such power is beyond you Septa."" Ned replied firmly, staring at the Septa. Turning back to the young girl, Ned picked up his quill and started writing. "Thank you, Talisa. That will be all. Please return to what you were doing before being summoned."

"Yes, my Lord." Talisa curtsey before turning on her heel and quickly leaving the room.

Once the door shut behind her, Septa Mordane placed herself before him. "My Lord! I must insist that you punish that girl."

Pausing mid stroke, Ned slowly lowered his quill and met the eyes of the Septa. "You insist?" Ned asked, slowly rising to his feet as Cat stepped away from him. "You do not get to insist upon anything Septa. This is not the South. This is the North. And the only reason you are even here in the first place is because of my Lady wife. Overstep your duties Septa, and I will have you sent back south before you can utter a single word."

The Septa faltered slightly before straightening her back. "Yes, my Lord, apologies. But the girls must return to their lessons and an example should be made so that the girls will accept a proper education."

"You're right Septa." Ned nodded. "Our girls do need a proper education on what is expected of them. Which is why your lessons with them are now going to be limited to only twice a week where you will teach them proper etiquette and womanly activities. They will also spend time with myself and whoever I deem worthy in the godswood learning the ways of the North. The rest of their time will be spent with the Lady of Winterfell learning how to rule a keep, Maester Luwin and Ser Rodrik."

Septa Mordane looked completely confused by his proclamation, and even his Lady wife looked confused. "My lord," the Septa said slowly. "Surely you can't mean to lessen the girl's proper lessons?"

"Your lessons are not proper for a Northern Lady Septa Mordane." Ned replied with a straight face. "Do you think Talisa's words surprised me? No. I've had your lessons monitored since we started fostering the Ladies of the North. My only regret is that I hadn't done so sooner. Because every report I've had over your lessons have mirrored Talisa's words almost exactly. And as you will not teach our daughters what they need to know, I am now forced to find someone who will."

Both Cat and Septa Mordane remained silent as Ned's quill scratched across the parchment. "But, Ned." Cat said slowly. "What does Ser Rodrik have to teach our daughters?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Ned asked, looking at Cat. "He will teach them how to wield a blade. And while I pray they will never have to raise a weapon, I will not have them ignorant of such matters should the need arise."

"My Lord!" Septa Mordane shouted. "I cannot allow you to corrupt future Ladies like th-"

Slamming his fist against the surface of his desk with enough force to crack the wood, Ned rose to his feet and fixed the Septa with a glare. "You will not dictate how my daughters are raised. Such jurisdiction is far beyond you. This is not the South. This the North. Expectations of Ladies are different here. And as Ladies of House Stark, my daughters must set an example for the entirety North. Try and tell me what I can and cannot do with my daughters again Septa or overstep the bounds that I have set, and I will have you thrown north of the Wall with nothing but the clothes on your back and leave you to the tender mercies of the Wildlings. Am I understood?"

The Septa was openly trembling as she stood before him. "Yes, my Lord."

"Good." Ned nodded, resuming his seat and picking up his quill. "You're dismissed."

Mordane hardly waited before bolting out of the room, leaving Ned and Cat alone. "Ned." Cat spoke softly as she closed the door. "I do not mean to go against your will, but that was unfair."

"Unfair?" Ned asked, shaking his head and setting down his quill. '_Gods. I'll be surprised if I get anything done at this rate.' _"If anything, Cat I was fairer than the Septa deserved. I was not lying when I spoke of having her lessons watched. And Talisa's words were actually the kindest I have heard regarding Mordane's lessons."

Cat seemed genuinely surprised at hearing that. "But Ned, having the girls learn from Ser Rodrik, that is not proper. Ladies should not learn how to wield a blade. And I fear that once Arya starts these lessons, she will not want to attend any other."

Leaning back in his seat, Ned regarded his wife. "You have not seen war Cat. I have. It is not the men on the field that often suffer the most. It is the innocents who are not on the field who often suffer the most. And from what I've seen Cat, it is those same knights and nobles that Septa Mordane is building up to our daughters that commit the greatest atrocities. Gods willing, our daughters will never experience war. And I do not expect them to don armor and grab and sword and march out into the field of battle. But should the need ever come, I want our daughters to be able to protect themselves should they need to do so. And as for Arya, it is my hope that by indulging her this much that it will curb the wolfs blood within her."

Cat didn't seem convinced, but still she nodded her consent. "As you say my husband."

* * *

"I honestly don't know what was funnier. Watching Sansa fail so bad with the bow, or the look on her face when Arya managed to hit the target on her first try."

Listening to his young charge as he regaled him with tales of his sisters first time in the training yard, Harry couldn't help but smile as the rivalry between Arya and Sansa. Arya reminded him greatly of Ginny and Sansa reminded him quite a bit of Daphne. And just like Arya and Sansa, Ginny and Daphne were opposites that had quite the healthy rivalry that had managed to persist even after thousands of years. "And how did Lady Stark take to her daughters training?"

At this, Jon smiled widely. "She was not pleased. Her lips were permanently puckered like this." Jon did an imitation of someone who'd eaten something incredibly sour. "And the look only got worse when Arya bested Sansa and then Sansa took it as a challenge and started practicing twice as hard to best Arya in return. It was really funny!"

Leaning back, Harry smiled at the excitement in young Jon's voice as he continued talking about his family. But even as Harry let Jon's joy wash over him, Harry could still feel the pull. The same pull that'd been getting stronger with each passing moment as he spent precious energy to travel to Winterfell and beyond week after week for the past several years. '_I don't have any more time.'_ Harry thought sadly. '_If it will not come to pass soon, then I must return to my rest. And only magic knows when the hell I'll awake again…if I even would.'_

"Jon." Harry said, cutting the young man off. "I'm glad that your family is developing so well. But unfortunately, we are starting to lack the time we need. So, I want you to show me everything that I have taught you over the past few years. Begin."

Jon immediately jumped into action as he picked up the large stone that they'd often used over the past few years and set it down in between the two of them. For the next half an hour, Harry watched on silently as Jon proceeded to push and pull the rock, levitate it, change its color and even at the end change its shape to something vaguely resembling a wolf before shifting it back to its original shape. Throughout it all, Jon never once hesitated, nor did he falter. But by the end of the exercise, it was clear that the usage of his magic was taking a serious toll on the boy as sweat dripped freely down his face.

"Well done Jon." Harry congratulated the boy, which made the exhausted youngster smile. "Very few have been able to accomplish what you have at such a young age. Hell, I couldn't even do half of what you just did at your age. Granted I didn't even know that I had ability to use magic until your age, but that's beside the point."

Smiling widely, Jon slummed down heavily onto the ground as he tried his best to catch his breath. "Thank you. What…what's next?"

Folding his hands under his chin, Harry stared at the young boy. '_I guess it's time. He's not ready…but then again who can be ready?'_ "Now…now it is time for you and I to truly meet Jon. Face to face."

"But we are meeting face to face are we not?"

Harry wanted to smack himself. '_Okay…maybe he still needs some more work. Time to give him some more clues then.'_ "Jon, I'm not here. At least physically." He explained, accenting his point by letting his hand pass clear through the stone Jon had used for practice. "While I can leave my, well home for lack of a better term, like this. I haven't physically left my dwelling in a long time. In fact, it's been so long that I doubt I would even be able to leave."

Across from him, Harry watched as Jon's mind worked. "Okay." Jon nodded before biting his lip. "But…how do I convince my father to let me leave? He refuses fostering me anywhere, despite Lady Starks demands. And where even is your home?"

Laughing slightly, Harry rose to his feet. "Jon, you've been coming here to me once or twice a week for the past three years. And in all that time you have yet to truly ask just who I am outside of what my name was. And the reason why you haven't asked is because you know just who I am. Even if you haven't admitted it yet. So, who am I Jon?"

In front of him, the young man almost seemed to shrink in on himself. "But…Maester Luwin said that you were just a myth."

"And what did I tell you during some of our earliest lessons Jon?" Harry asked, crossing his arms over his chest. "Not even the most learned individual knows everything. Now Jon, who am I?"

Jon was almost shaking at this point. "You're…you're the Master of Death. The one who aided Bran the Builder in the creation of the Wall and Winterfell."

"There." Harry smiled. "That wasn't so hard now was it?"

"But…that's impossible!" Jon cried out, taking a step back from him. "The Wall and Winterfell was raised over eight thousand years ago!"

"Yes, it was." Harry nodded, mildly enjoyed the show that Jon was putting on for him. "I think I've aged pretty well over the past eight millennia, haven't I? But my age for now at least is irrelevant. What is relevant is if you truly wish to continue these lessons."

Visibly swallowing, Jon nodded. "I do."

"Then you need to come to me." Harry continued. "I can't make this journey so well any more. At least not without a prolonged period of rest. If you decide that you don't want to come to me, then this will be the end of it and I won't be able to teach you anymore."

"I want to learn more!" Jon shouted, jumping up to his feet. "Please…no one…no one has given me a chance before you. Please…I don't want to stop learning."

"Then you need to come to me." Harry replied, rising to his feet. "And as an extra motivation Jon, once you come to me, I will answer the question that Lord Stark has refused to. I will tell you who your mother is."

Jon blinked in surprised, but Harry could almost feel the swell of anticipation growing within the boy. "But wait! You, you haven't answered my questions! Where are you? And how do I convince my Lord Father to let me go?"

"You're a smart lad Jon." Harry responded with a smile. "Just think of the few stories of myself that are engrained into Westeros legends and I'm sure you'll be able to figure out where I am. And as for Lord Stark, I wouldn't worry too much about that. He will let you go. I've already made sure of that."

* * *

Sitting before the low burning fire within his solar, Ned stared down at the letter in his lap. It was not often that Ned's old friend would write to him, and whenever he did Ned knew that it was regarding something vital. So when Maester Luwin had come to him just before the evening meal with news of a raven from Lord Reed, Ned had immediately taken the letter and retreated back to his solar. But what his old friend had written him was not what Ned expected.

"_It's time Ned. He has a destiny before him. A terrible but important one. You must allow him to make the journey he is about to ask of you. I will meet him with a contingent of my own men at Talon Maegyr's lands to help him with what he is about to learn. For Her sake Ned. Let him go."_

The letter was cryptic, but there was no doubt about just who Howland was referring too. '_But what journey is it that Jon needs to make?'_ Ned thought, scratching at his beard. '_For years he has not asked for anything. Not even the name of his mother. He does little more than staying in Robb's shadow in order to support his cousin. Why now? And where does he wish to go?'_

Hearing a light rapping against his door, Ned chucked the letter from Lord Reed into the fire. "Come."

The door opened and Ned nearly had to do a double take as Jon slowly made his way into the room. '_This…this cannot be a coincidence.' _"Lord Stark." Jon began awkwardly as he stood just within the entrance to the room. "I…I wish to travel."

Staring at his secret nephew, Ned felt his heart race. "I see. Why? And my Lady Wife is not here Jon, you can call me father freely."

Shuffling his feet, Jon seemed to have trouble meeting his eyes. "I've had…visions Lord St – father."

"I see." Ned replied, trying and failing to calm his heart. "Are these visions the reason why you have been making weekly trips to the godswood after night has fallen for the past year or more?"

Jon's head shot up in surprise. "Father-"

"There is no harm done Jon." Ned replied, holding up his hand to stall his nephew from either lying or trying to justify his actions. "It warms my heart that you can draw comfort from the godswood and the old gods. Now tell me, these 'visions' of yours have led to your wish today have they not?" Jon nodded. "And where is it that you wish to travel too?"

"The Isle of Faces."

That was certainly not what Ned had been expecting. '_The Isle of Faces.'_ Ned swallowed. '_The same place that Lynna and Rheagar married.'_ "Tell me…why do you wish to travel to such a place?"

"I – I can't say father." Jon replied shakily. "I just know that there is something for me at the Isle of Faces. Something that I cannot have here in Winterfell. Please father, I have tried to be a dutiful son, mindful of my station. I have not asked for anything of you before…please. Let me do this. This is something I know I need to do."

Ned's first reaction was to deny the request. But a small voice in the back of his mind stuck that notion down as soon as it came. '_I can't protect him if he is away from Winterfell. And if someone were to discover his true lineage while he is away from the safety of the North. I shudder to think of what will happen to him.'_ Ned thought sadly. '_But, can I continue to hold him back? And the letter from Howland, how could he know such a thing? Are the old gods reaching out through Jon? If I deny this request, shall I be forced to endure the anger of the gods?'_

"You will take a dozen of our House Guards with you on this voyage." Ned said, clearly surprising Jon as the boy looked almost startled at his agreement. "You will go to the Isle of Faces, do what you feel you must and return immediately. Is that clear?"

Jon's expression was one of pure disbelief as Ned finished issuing his demands. But he regained his wits quickly as he nodded in agreement to the demands set before him. "Yes father. I understand. I will only stay as long as I need too."

Fighting back at the pain building in his chest at the thought of letting Jon go, Ned stepped forward and gently but firmly brought his nephew into his arms. "Jon…I know that I don't say this enough, but I am proud of the man that you are becoming. And…and I know that your mother would be proud of the young man that stands before me today."

Jon's slight frame stiffened in Ned's arm at the mention of the woman who Ned openly refused to talk about with anyone. "Father," Jon said slowly, pulling back from the embrace. "About my mother…"

"Jon." Ned interrupted him, placing a hand on his shoulder. "I will tell you about your mother one day. I swear I will. But no matter what happens Jon, just remember. Even though you might not carry our name, the blood of the Starks, the Ancient King's of Winter, runs through your veins."

Jon's back straightened and glint of pride entered his eyes as he met Ned's gaze. "Yes father."

"Good." Ned smiled sadly, patting Jon on the shoulder. "Now go pack. I will send out orders tonight and you will leave first thing in the morning."

"Yes father." Jon nodded, a grin etched on his face as he nearly started bouncing in place. "May I be ex-"

"You are excused Jon."

The words had barely left his lips before Jon had turned and bolted out of the room, nearly running in to the closed door of his solar in the process. Chuckling slightly to himself at Jon's antics, Ned turned and made his way back towards the low burning fire within the room. As he stared down into the dying flames, he felt the little mirth he had within him die as he thought of the journey Jon was about to partake. He didn't know why, but he knew that after Jon returned nothing would ever be the same again. '_I can only pray that whatever happens on the Isle of Faces that he will be able to forgive me for the lie I've forced him to live his entire life.'_

* * *

Sitting in the Small Council Chambers, the recently promoted Master of Coin Petyr Baelish idly flipped through his books as he waited for the arrival of the Hand of the King, Jon Arryn, so that the meeting could begin. It'd taken more bribes, called in favors and years than he'd cared to admit, but finally after a so long he'd managed to obtain the position that he knew would allow him to further his goals.

As he flipped through the pages of his ledger, Petyr took note of the other three members that were seated along with him. Across from him sat Stannis Baratheon, the Kings brother and Lord of Dragonstone. '_Although such a title is an insult. And by the constant scowl the man wears he still harbors ill feelings towards his brother for taking their ancestral seat away from him.' _Petyr thought as he avoided meeting Stannis's eye. Not that such a task was incredibly difficult as the Master of Ships had not bothered to hide his distaste for Petyr, or more specifically the trade that Petyr specialized in. Unfortunately, this also meant that unlike his brother the King, Stannis was not as easy to appease. With Robert all Petyr had to do was throw some coin and whore and the man was content. With Stannis however, he had to watch his steps carefully as the man was neigh incorruptible and had no vices to speak of.

Sitting next to Petyr was the perhaps the only man in the entire Seven Kingdoms that he had a modicum of respect for. _'Although to call Varys a 'man' is a misnomer.'_ Petyr thought with a hidden grin. '_In order to be a man, one needs to have a cock. And he is sorely lacking in that department. But, to his credit his lack of cock has given him the ability to focus on other aspects. And his 'little birds' are without a doubt the greatest spy network in the world. And no doubt the only reason why Robert even entertained the notion of keeping him around.'_

Directly across from the Master of Whispers was perhaps the greatest actor in all the Seven Kingdoms. '_Everyone just assumes that the Grand Maester is a feeble old man because he hobbles around and often asks for things to be repeated and again. But it's all an act. My whores have informed me of just how 'feeble' the old fool truly is. Not to mention that he is so far in the pockets of Tywin Lannister that he might as well be kissing the man's ass.'_

Flipping to a certain page, Petyr paused in his reflection of his fellow council members in favor of the numbers staring up at him from the page. It was no secret that the Lords and Ladies of the Westeros lied as easily as they breathed when it came to submitting their dues. In the case of most of those nobles, it was mere child's play for Petyr to see the discrepancies. And after a hidden message or two, Petyr either had a new tool to use, or the King had someone to make an example of. Then there were the Masters of the Game, namely the Tyrell's, Lannister's and Martel's. Petyr was not one to give praise, but he could give credit where it was due as those three Houses knew just how to play the game to make their actions all but invisible.

Then there were the honorable fools like Lord Eddard Stark, Warden of the North and Lord of Winterfell. The one man in all of Westeros that Petyr hated perhaps the more than any other. The man was honorable to fault, even more so than the unbending Stannis Baratheon. '_Although considering he has a bastard, one has to question just how great his honor truly is.'_ But bastard aside, Eddard Stark was not a man capable of lying. Which was why the tax revenue from the North irked Petyr more than slightly. Since the first time since Aegon the Conqueror united the Seven Kingdoms, the North was truly flourishing.

Although not all the credit could be given to the Starks. Most was due to the arrival of the foreign Lord Maegyr two years prior. Petyr had recognized the new arrivals potential threat to his long-term goals the moment the Spider had read the reports from his 'little birds' in the North. Ever since he'd been doing his best to stir anonymity towards the foreigners in the hopes of getting them to leave. But it was all for not. The moment that man had managed to get one shipment of his new crops to the Northern Lords he was almost immediately accepted amongst them. At this point, not even a more…direct method of removal would work. The foundation had been laid, and now the North was becoming stronger with each passing year. And a strong North was the last thing Petyr wanted.

Hearing the door to the chambers open, Petyr automatically rose to his feet as did the rest of the council members. Jon Arryn's presence was expected, but what wasn't expected was the lumbering form of the 'drunken' King marching into the chambers alongside Jon with the ever-present Ser Barristan, Commander of the Kingsguard, and Lancel Lannister, the King's squire, walking just behind him.

Bowing with the rest of the Small Council, Petyr waited until the King noisily plopped into his seat before retaking his own. '_The Demon of the Trident.'_ Petyr thought with mirth as he watched the steadying rounding monarch of the Seven Kingdoms hold out his cup for his squire to refill with wine. '_More like the Demon of food and wine.'_ After noisily finishing off the goblet of wine, a portion of which spilled out onto his unkept beard, Robert held out the cup for a refill. "Alright Jon, what the fuck is going on now? I swear, this had better not be more counting coppers."

Robert's attitude was one of the main reasons why Petyr like the man as their King. He couldn't give a shit about ruling. All he wanted was to drink and fuck. Which made it much easier for Petyr to slowly gain wealth and influence as he was able to slowly replace key positions with men in under his employ. Or in some cases, no men at all.

Sitting directly across from the King, Jon Arryn looked every one of his years as he stared down the monarch. "This particular business requires your approval Robert." Jon explained as he retrieved a raven's note from within his robes. "We've received word from Lord Stark."

It was almost as if someone had splashed the King with a bucket of ice water with how quickly the Kings mood changed. "Ned?" Robert asked almost gleefully. "Well what the fuck are you waiting for? Give me the damn thing!"

Nodding, Jon passed the note along to the Spider, who in turn handed it to Stannis who gave it to the King. Unrolling the missive, Robert began reading the note with a wide grin. But as he finished, the grin had faded. "What the fuck?" Robert grumbled as he dropped the note. "Four years and hardly a fucking word…now this?"

"Ned has been busy ruling the North, your Grace." Jon reminded the monarch sternly as he emphasizes the word 'ruling'. "And his request does indeed need to be agreed upon by yourself in order to pass."

"And what has Lord Stark requested?" Stannis asked, turning towards Jon Arryn.

"He has requested the Talon Maegyr and his heirs, Talisa Maegyr and Tolar Maegyr, be risen to the ranks of nobility and be granted all rights and privileges associated with such." Jon Arryn explained as Robert proceed to drain his second glass of wine in a single go.

"Foreigners." The Grand Maester grumbled. "Are they not from Volantis? Where slavery is openly practiced? Can we truly allow such people to have the right of Nobility here in Westeros?"

"My little birds have sung many songs of House Maegyr." Varys added calmly. "They were never a prominent House in Volantis and were in fact exiled from their homeland due to their rejection of slavery. They sought refuge and Lord Stark opened the North to them, provided they earn their place. And they have done just that."

"Ah, piss on it." Robert grumbled. "If Ned thinks they're worthy of being given the title of Nobility then they're working worthy. Jon, write it up and bring it to me and I'll sign it. Now, is there anything else? Or just more counting fucking coppers?"

"There is one other song my little birds have sung from the North, your Grace." Varys added before the King could leave the table. "It appears that Lord Starks bastard son has left Winterfell in the company of nearly a dozen House Guards."

"Really?" Robert asked, seemingly mildly interested. Not surprising though considering there were only three things that got the Kings attention. Wine. Whores. And the Starks. "Did Ned decide to foster the boy somewhere?"

"No." Varys replied, shaking his head. "His departure was sudden and without notice. All that is known is that the boy and Lord Stark spoke in private and the next day the boy was leaving Winterfell in accompaniment of the Stark Guards."

"I suppose that Lord Stark finally sent the boy to the Wall to live out his days." Baelish remarked offhandedly.

Once he'd learned of the bastard's existence, he'd reached out to Cat in hopes that he'd be able to use the bastard as a wedge to divide Cat from the Starks. But despite her hatred for the bastard, which Baelish did everything in his power to encourage and remind her of, the two had not only stayed married but had produced three other children. "No." Varys responded, which surprised Baelish, he was sure that Cat would've had the boy sent to the Wall the moment he could walk upright. "According to my little birds, he's heading south. Although where his destination is, I do not know. That information was shared only between Lord Stark and his bastard."

"Blah, who cares where the boy is going." Robert growled, rising from his seat. "If that's all that needs my attention, then I'm leaving. Lancel, Barristan, let's go."

Baelish and the other members of the Small Council were just barely able to rise out of their seats before Robert was already at the door and throwing them open so he could leave. Retaking his seat after the King had departed the room, Petyr started writing in his ledge as he idly listened in on the ongoing of the council. But while the council continued to discuss matters of the realm, Petyr's mind was far from matters of rule. '_This is an opportunity.'_ He thought as he wrote down a note to send another request to the Iron Bank for an additional loan to pay for more of the crown's finances. '_It'll be a rush job…but I have enough ears on the Kingsroad that finding the boy should not be difficult. Then it will just be a matter of sending a few trustworthy men after him.'_ As the council continued, Petyr smiled despite himself as he drew up plans to begin sowing some much-needed chaos into the realm of Westeros.

* * *

Fighting against the ache forming in his back, Jon forced himself to remain upright as he rode his pony alongside Ser Jory and Lord Howland Reed while the ten Stark House guards and five House Reed guards followed close behind. They'd been riding for two weeks and had only just crossed the Trident a day prior and were now nearly at the eastern side of the Gods Eye. As much as it pained him to admit, Jon knew that the only reason why the trip had even taken this long was because of him. While he was a skill rider, he wasn't nearly as skilled as the fully-grown men that were accompanying them. "Don't worry about it lad." Lord Reed said, pulling his horse up close to Jon's. "You've done well for your first long trip on horse. Many your age would've barely lasted a week let alone two at this pace."

Feeling his spirits lift slightly, Jon nodded to the Crannogman Lord. Jon still wasn't sure just why the Lord of Greywater watch had decided to join them, but Jon was glad that he did. The man's father like nature had been a source of comfort for Jon ever since they'd left the North. Leaving Winterfell and the only home that Jon had ever know, even if only for a short period of time, had been difficult for Jon. Especially when it came to saying goodbye to Arya who clung to him like her life depended on him staying with her. And despite being in the company of Ser Jory and other men that Jon had grown up around, it was still difficult for him. But Lord Reed had been there for Jon in a way the others couldn't. It was almost as if the man had a second sense to him and knew just what to say or do to make Jon feel better.

"How much longer until we reach the Gods Eye?" Jon asked the Crannogman Lord.

"Not long." Lord Reed answered, staring straight ahead. "By midday at the latest I would assume."

"If you don't mind me asking Lord Reed," Ser Jory spoke, scratching at his lengthening beard. "Why are we not traveling to Harrenhal? I'm sure we could ask the Lady Whent to provide a small boat for us so that young Jon here can reach the Isle of Faces."

"I don't think we will have to worry about such a trivial thing, Ser Jory." Lord Reed responded with a shrug and a subtle wink at Jon's, making Jon wonder not for the first time just how much Lord Reed knew about what was going on and if he knew that they were on their way to meet with the fabled Master of Death.

True to Lord Reed's prediction, the Gods Eye came into view just midday and within an hour of arriving at the lake side, the men of House Stark and House Reed had assembled a small camp while Jon, Lord Reed and Ser Jory stood at the edge of the lake. Despite the midday sun high in the sky, a thick layer of fog lay over the Gods Eye, obscuring the Isle of Faces from view. "This is strange." Ser Jory mumbled as the three of the stood side by side. "There shouldn't be fog over the lake. Not at this time of the day."

"The Isle of the Faces is a place of the old god's Ser Jory." Lord Reed explained calmly. "The Children of the Forest cast the spell that cracked the land separating Essos from Westeros here. And it is also where the Pact was signed between the world of men and the Children. The old magic runs deep. And if the island doesn't want visitors, then no one will be able to step foot on its shores."

"Then how do we cross?" Jon asked, looking up at the older Lord.

Lord Reed merely turned to him and smirked. "You tell us Jon. You're the one whose been called here. Not us."

Swallowing as he found himself under the scrutiny of not only Lord Reed but also Ser Jory, Jon stepped forward and knelt at the waters edge. Not entirely sure just what he was supposed to do, he did the only thin he could think of. He slowly lowered his hand until it was submerged in the water and called out to his mentor in his mind. '_Lord Potter…Harry. I don't know if you can hear me. But we've arrived at the edge of the Gods Eye. If there is a way to reach you, please send it now. I'm kind of looking stupid here in front of my father's. I brought them all the way down here and now, now I have no idea what to do. So, any help you could provide would appreciated.'_

Cracking one eye open, Jon stared blankly across the fog covered lake. And found nothing but fog and water. '_Yeah,'_ he thought, pulling his hand out of the water and shaking it dry, '_that wasn't embarrassing at all.'_

As he gathered his feet under him, he heard something. A slight splashing of water. Squinting into the fog, Jon tried to find the source of the noise. There, just within the fog he found the source of the shifting water. It was a small raft made of white wood. But despite its steady pace towards them, there was no one aboard the small raft to guide it. "By the gods." He heard Jory mumble as the small boat drifted closer to the shore near them.

"I told you Ser Jory," Lord Reed said with a grin as he waded ankle deep into the water to retrieve the raft. "The old gods provide to those in need."

Wading into the water with the Crannogman Lord, Jon studied the small raft. Jon wasn't an expert on sea fairing vessels by any means, but even he could tell that the small raft would only just be able to support himself and maybe one other fully grown man. "It appears that only the two of us are meant to go to the Isle of Faces." Lord Reed murmured as he brought the raft closer to the shore before helping Jon into the raft. "Ser Jory, stay with the men here and wait for us. I'll guide young Jon here to the Isle and help him however I can."

Ser Jory looked like he wanted to protest, but a stern single stern look from the Lord of Greywater Watch made him swallow whatever protest he had. "As you will, Lord Reed." Ser Jory nodded before wading into the water and grabbing hold of the raft and giving it a push to send the two of them back out into the waters. "Be safe Lord Snow. Your father wouldn't forgive me if anything happened to you."

"Don't worry Ser Jory." Jon replied as he and Lord Reed slowly started to drift into the lake and towards the fog. "We'll be back soon."

As they drifted away from the shore, Jon turned around and faced out towards the interior of the lake and the thick fog that they were approaching. Looking for something, anything, to calm his steadily racing heart, Jon made to pick up and oar to help Lord Reed row. Only to discover to his surprise that there was none. And Lord Reed didn't have one either. "Umm, Lord Reed." Jon gulped, looking around the small raft. "Where…where are the oars?"

Again, Lord Reed's response was accompanied by a slight upturning of his lips as their raft slowly drifted into the thick fog, obscuring their vision of the shoreline. "I may not know everything Jon. But I do know just why you are coming to the Isle of Faces. Or rather, I know just _who_ you're coming to see. And if seeing as how you know _him_, is such a thing as a raft that can move on its own really so surprising?"

That brought Jon up short. "You, you know? About…the Master of Death?"

If Lord Reed was at all surprised, he didn't show it. Instead, Lord Reed merely stared off into the fog before them. "The Starks are not the only long-lived house in Westeros Jon. The Reeds can trace their lineage back almost as far as the Starks. The blood of the First Men run through our veins. As does their magic. I'm gifted with Green Dreams on occasion, as is my son. I had a dream just before the arrival of Lord Maegyr. The dream showed me just how valuable he would become to the North, which is why I so readily gave him land in the Neck. And then, just days before you left Winterfell, I received another dream. One that showed me you and I here, on the Isle of Faces. And as for the Master of Death, that was easy to discern. Many, particularly those that follow the faith of the Seven, will be quick to write him off as a myth. But the North remembers Jon. The Master of Death is a friend to all First Men. And – ah…that was quicker than I expected it to be."

Turning around, Jon felt his jaw drop. Barely a few dozen paces in front of them was the Isle of Faces. '_How can we already be at the Isle?'_ Jon thought as Lord Reed hopped out of the raft into the waist deep water in order to pull the raft the remaining distance to the shore. '_This…this had to be through magic. But how we could travel so far in so little time? And at such a slow pace? By the gods…how much more do I have to learn?'_

"Come Jon." Lord Reed announced, holding his hand out for Jon once the raft had been beached. "I assume that you don't want to keep our host waiting, do you?"

No. He definingly didn't want to keep Harry waiting. Taking the offered hand, Jon hopped out of the raft and stared mutely at the Isle of Faces. The island reminded Jon greatly of the Wolfswood surrounding Winterfell. The trees, while different than those in the North, were just as numerous and as close together. And no matter where he looked, there was no clear path for them to follow. '_It's almost as if no man has ever stepped foot on this Isle.'_ Jon thought as he stepped towards the tree line.

"Are there truly Green Men on this Isle?" Jon asked aloud while staring at the dense tree line. "I can't see any paths."

"And you won't." Lord Reed explained as he stepped forward so the two were side by side. "I've been here only once before, years ago. Just before the Tourney of Harrenhal."

That got Jon's attention as he turned sharply towards Lord Reed. "You were at the Tourney of Harrenhal?"

"Yes." Lord Reed nodded, and Jon could see the sadness that entered the Lord's features at the mention of the fate event that served as the start for the fall of House Targaryen. "But that is a tale for another time. Now, where do you need to go?"

Jon was about to answer that he didn't know. But stopped himself. He could almost feel something akin to a pull coming from within the forest. "This way." Jon pointed in the direction of where the sensation was coming from before moving towards it.

He was just past the tree line when he realized that he was alone. Turning around, he saw Lord Reed clearing a space for himself on near the water front and taking a seat. "This is as far as I go Jon." Lord Reed explained as he laid back on the ground and closed his eyes. "I'll be here if you need be. But what happens next is for you and you alone."

Swallowing back the knot of fear forming in his gut, Jon mustered all the courage he could as he turned back towards the interior of the forest. The first step was without a doubt the hardest. The second was easier. As was the third. By the fifth, Jon wasn't thinking, he was merely putting one foot in front of the other as he followed the sensation coming from within the forest. He didn't know just how long he walked for, it couldn't have been for more than an hour, but soon the densely packed trees began to thin until eventually he came upon a clearing.

As he stepped out of the line of trees, Jon stopped dead in his tracks. The clearing wasn't large, maybe fifty to a hundred paces across. But the center of the clear completely shocked Jon. There were dozens of weirwoods in the middle of the clearing. Each one that he could see clearly had the carved face facing outwards. And amid the weirwoods was a large stone arch as tall as man that led to a path leading down into the ground.

'_Be strong Jon.'_ He thought as he made his way towards the stone arch and stared down into the darkened path that led down into the ground. '_You might not have the Stark name…but you have the blood the Kings of Winter. A little thing like a dark creepy path leading into the ground can't stop you now.'_

Taking a steadying breath, Jon closed his eyes and held out his hand. Focusing on the small well of magic within him, he brought forth what power he could into the palm of his hand and shaped it to his desire. As the sensation of his magic flowing through him passed, he could feel the heat of light upon his face. Opening his eyes, he smiled as he stared at the dimly glowing sphere of light that was hovering in the air just above the palm of his hand. '_I can only hold this for a few minutes.'_ Jon thought as he forced one foot in front of the other as he followed the path below ground. '_Let's hope that this doesn't take that long.'_

Nearly ten minutes later, Jon could feel the sweat running freely down his face as he struggled to hold onto the sphere of light deep in the dark tunnels. '_Gods.'_ He thought as he continued down the path. '_Does this path ever end?'_

As if almost to answer his question, the path before him abruptly came to a dead end before him as he rounded a corner. "Oh, come on." Jon yelled as he stared at the dead end. The sensation still going strong within him and leading past the end of the corridor. "There wasn't any other path! Now where am I supposed to go?"

Looking at the dead end, he tried to find something, anything, that would tell him what he was supposed to do now. "Damn it." Jon growled as he started to feel his control on the small sphere start to wither, causing his only source of light to flicker. "Harry! I don't know if you can hear me! But I'm here! Where am I supposed to go now?! This path only led me to a dead e-"

The words died in his throat as the dead end before him almost seemed to…waver before disappearing completely, leading to a new path. The path before him was completely different than the one he'd spent the past ten minutes traversing. Instead of a cave, the path in front of him might has well have been a corridor within the halls of Winterfell. "Okay," Jon said aloud as he stepped forwards onto the smooth stone flooring. "Thanks…I guess."

Once he was fully within the new path, he felt something almost like a rushing of wind pass him by. The gust completely broke his concentration on his magic, causing the orb of light in his hand to falter and die. "No!" Jon screamed as he suddenly found himself surrounded by darkness as he tried desperately to rekindle the orb. "Not now! Not no-"

Another rush of wind came over him. Only this time there was a snap and hiss as a torch on the wall that he hadn't even notice came to life. Then another sprung to life a few paces down the hall followed quickly by another. Staring the burning torch on the wall and then at his hand, Jon shook his head in wonderment. "Gods…I hope that he teaches me how to do that. Being able to light torches like that would be incredibly useful at night when they go out."

Following the line of torches down the hall, Jon felt his heart race. He was almost to his mentor. He knew it. Rounding a corner, Jon found himself staring into a large circular domed room with dozens of lit torches lining the walls. Stepping into the room, Jon looked around in wonder at the room. There dozens, no hundreds of tomes lining every wall. Not even the library of Winterfell held so many. And the walls…it was almost as if the very roots of the weirwoods had turned to stone to make the walls of the room. But what Jon truly found strange was the lack of furniture within the room. There was only a single large stone bed in center of the room that was surrounded on all four sides by some sort of alter, upon each of which sat a strong figurine.

Approaching the nearest altar, Jon stared closely at the strange stone figure. It wasn't made of stone…well it was. But it wasn't any stone that Jon recognized. It was black and almost seemed to shine in the light of the torches. And the animal that it depicted was just as strange. "It…looks almost like a lion. Only…it has a bird's head and wings." Reaching out, he carefully traced the lines of the incredibly well-made figure. "What manner of creature is this?"

"It's called a 'griffin' Jon. And I would appreciate it if you didn't touch that which don't fully comprehend."

Jumping, Jon, spun in place, his hand reaching for the small dagger he kept at his waist. Standing before one of the book shelves along the wall as a figure dressed in a black cloak with the hood up that had his back turned towards him. "Gods." Jon breathed, forcing his hand to let go of his dagger as his mind placed the voice. "Do you always try and scare everyone to death by hiding and jumping out at them Harry?"

Harry's shoulder's shook slightly, giving Jon the distinct impression that his mentor was laughing at him. "I wasn't hiding Jon. You merely didn't check your surroundings well enough. Tsk tsk. I thought that we talked about that before."

Finally managing to get himself under control, Jon let out a long breath. "Sorry." He apologized.

"Don't apologize Jon." Harry responded, his back still turned towards Jon. "Just do better next time."

Nodding, Jon made to say that he would do so when he stopped himself. "Harry, are you okay? Your voice…it sounds different."

Again, the shoulders of the figure shook slightly. "Does it? Well, sorry to disappoint you, but this is how my voice sounds. My voice isn't nearly as good as it used to be. And the projection that I sent to you in Winterfell was merely a mental construct, so it was my minds voice that you've been listening too for the past few years. Not my actual voice. Does it disappoint you?"

Blinking, Jon took a step towards his mentor. "No. But it…it just sounds so…"

"Old?" Harry asked as he slowly started to turn towards him. "Well, there is a perfectly good reason for that young man."

Jon honestly didn't think that anything could surprise him more than when Harry turned around fully. Every time Jon had seen his mentor over the past few years, he'd always appeared to be the same age as his Lord Father. But the man who stood before him now was so…old. He could make even Maester Luwin and Old Nan look like children in comparison! "You're…so old!"

He couldn't stop the words even if he'd wanted to. And the moment they left him he immediately slapped his hands over his mouth in the hope that they either hadn't been uttered or that he could take them back. But instead of being offended, Harry merely laughed. "Haha…well Jon. When eight thousand years old you reach, see how well you look, hmmm?"

"Oh by Morgana's dusty cunt Harry…that joke got old a few thousand years ago."

Letting out a cry of surprise at the voice that came from directly behind him, Jon pun quickly to confront whoever had sneaked up on him, only to discover to his utmost surprise besides from Harry and himself, there was no one else in the room. "Um, Harry." Jon said awkwardly, backing up towards his mentor. "Who else is here with us?"

"My Angels." Harry answered, stepping past Jon and towards the alters in the center of the room. "You're going to have to forgive them Jon. They love to tease and play games. And seeing as how it has only been the five of us for as Merlin only knows how long, they're exited to have someone new to play with. Now you four, before you give the poor boy a heart attack, why don't you all come on out and greet him."

After studying with Harry for years, Jon had thought that very little could surprise him. But he was dead wrong. As one, the four figurines on each alter started to dimly glow as if they had a candle within. And the space around each idol shimmered and where there was once nothing, standing before each idol was a young woman. Jon had seen many women he'd considered pretty around Winterfell and Wintertown…but the four standing before him now made all of them pale in comparison.

"He's cuter than I thought he would be." The blond-haired woman that was standing before the raven statue said, smiling at him as she skipped towards him. "Oh yes…he's going to be a heartbreaker in a few years."

"Stick your tongue back in your mouth Luna." The other blond-haired woman who was standing before the snake like statue sighed. "Just because he hasn't hit puberty yet doesn't mean you can jump start it."

"Don't mind these two." The red-haired woman who was standing in front of the idol depicting some small fur-covered creature laughed. "They've been competing for years about…well just about everything actually."

The blond-haired woman who'd skipped over towards him pouted as she turned her head to stare at the other three. "We don't compete about everything Susan…usually…although I still say that I won the best 'o-face' competition. You were the only one who didn't comment on the competition Harry! And the vote is tied between the two of us still! You need to break the tie!"

"Morgana's hairy armpit Luna." The other red-haired woman, the one who was standing before the strange lion-bird creature, sighed. "What did Daphne just say? Don't scare the boy for life!"

Blinking dumbly, Jon could do little more than gape at the four goddesses who were slowly starting to surround him and Harry. Beside him, Jon heard Harry chuckled good naturedly as he patted Jon on the shoulder. "Probably should've warned you about these four. But, better late than never I suppose. Jon, I'd like you to meet my four Angels. The blond next to you is Luna Lovegood. The other blond is Daphne Greengrass. The red head over there is Susan Bones. And this beautiful goddess is Ginevra Potter, my wife of…I don't even know how many years it's been now."

Scrambling to overcome his shock, Jon quickly bowed to the four goddesses as he tried desperately to remember the etiquette lessons that'd been forced upon him by Lady Stark. "Um…it's a pleasure to meet you all, my Ladies."

"My Ladies?" The red-haired woman, Lady Bones, said with a raised brow. "Well that is a civil greeting. Are you sure that we can't keep him around until he's a few years older Harry?"

The thought of spending years down in this cave, away from his family, brought Jon up short. "I'm sure that Jon doesn't want to spend years down here Susan." Harry responded, stepping past Jon and towards the center of the room. "Come Jon, let's talk about just why I asked you to come down from Winterfell."

Snapping his fingers, Jon watched in utter fascinacion as the bed in the center of the room shimmered and shifted shape. In the space of a heartbeat, the bed was gone and in its place was a table complete with benches on each side and a burning candle in the center. '_By the old and new gods.'_ Jon thought as he took a seat on the bench across the table from his mentor. '_I have a lot to learn.'_

Once the two were seated, Jon started to shift awkwardly as Harry just stared at him. "Well…here we are." His mentor said slowly. "For so long I've dreamt of having this conversation and now…now I don't know where to begin."

"It is often at the beginning that is the best place to start my love." The Lady Ginevra said as she sat down next to Harry without a sound.

Across from him, Harry rolled his eyes. An action which baffled Jon as he'd seen his brothers and sisters do the same, but never his father or Lady Stark. "Thanks for the advice Ginny. But I guess you're right. Tell me Jon, why do you think that I hold the title of 'Master of Death'?"

Unsure of what to say, Jon merely shrugged his shoulders. "Is it because you're the most powerful magic user?"

"No." Harry replied before hesitating. "Well, maybe in part. But not really. What defines one as the 'Master of Death' is ownership of three specific magical foci. You do remember the lesson I gave you on magical foci right?"

"Yes," Jon replied. "You said they were objects that can enhance magic abilities."

"That's right." Harry nodded before tugging at the corner of the cloak that he was wearing. "This cloak is known as the 'Cloak of Invisibility. Capable of hiding one from anything and anyone. Even the dead cannot find the one wearing it." Next, he showed Jon the ring that adorned his right hand. "This is the Resurrection Stone. Capable of bringing the spirits of the dead back to the realm of the living for a short time. But they are only visible to the one who wields it and those they have direct contact with. And this," pausing, Harry set what looked like a stick down on the table. "Is the Elder Wand. The most powerful magical foci ever forged and one that refuses to be in the hands of one that has tasted defeat while wielding it. These three foci are known as the 'Deathly Hallows'. And the one who takes possession of all three and earns their loyalty is granted the title of 'Master of Death'."

Staring at the three objects, Jon furrowed his brow as he pondered what Harry had just told him. "So…you collected these three and became the 'Master of Death'?"

"I didn't necessarily go out of my way to collect them if that is what you're wondering." Harry told him, which made the Lady Greengrass stifle a laugh. "They just kind of…well to cut a very long story short, I basically came into possession of each one almost by accident. Except for the Cloak, that was a family heirloom that I inherited. But being the Master of Death means more than just being a powerful mage. This power comes with a certain responsibility. It is a great boon, yet at the same time a great curse. As you will learn in time."

Staring up at his mentor, Jon couldn't help the wave of confusion that was passing through him as he spoke. "What do you mean?"  
Lips upturning, Harry leaned back. "I told you that I would never lie to you Jon. And I'm not about to start. I want you to know everything that I know. You'll need it."

Jon's confusion only grew as Harry continued. "But why?"

"You haven't figured it out yet?" Harry asked, to which Jon shook his head. "I haven't spent the last few years training an apprentice or squire or however you want to call yourself Jon. I've been training you so that you will be ready."

"Ready for what?" Jon asked.

"To become the next Master of Death. My successor."

Jon froze. '_What? I'm…what? He want's…what?' _"What?"

"Nice job with taking it nice and slow and from the beginning Harry." The Lady Greengrass laughed. "I honestly think you broke him."

"Jon." Harry's voice called out, startling him as Jon realized that Harry was now sitting beside him with a hand on his shoulder. '_When did he move? Or…did…what is going on?'_ "Breathe Jon."

Taking several long breaths, Jon forced himself to meet his mentor's gaze. "You…you want me to be…be your Heir?"

"Yes." Harry nodded as if it was completely obvious.

"Why?" Jon asked before he could help himself. "I'm…my father says that I have the blood of the Starks, but I don't have the Stark name. There must be other's, true born son's and daughter's that-"

"Your status as a bastard or trueborn means absolutely jack shit Jon." Harry said, cutting him off. "And while there are others that could take up the mantle, they do not have the power nor the heart to truly control the Hallows. And in time they would end up being control by them, instead of using them. But you, your lineage gives you an edge. And it's not just because you're are a descendent of the First Men. You are the first child born of two of most magically powerful bloodlines this world has ever seen."

Jon's confusion disappated as excitement raced through him. "My mother." He said, sitting up straighter and all but forgetting about the 'Master of Death' title. "You know my mother? Who is she? Where is she? You said that you'd tell me who she was when I got here! Are you…will you still do so?"

"Yes." Harry nodded. "I'm a man of my word. But I fear simply telling you will not be enough. So instead, how about I show you."

"How?" Jon was nearly bouncing in his seat. Finally, after years of asking his father about his mother, he was finally going to find out who she was.

A warm smile spread across Harry's withered face as he held out a hand to Jon. "Take my hand. This only works for me and those that I have direct contact with. But I warn you now Jon…what you are about to learn, while it is the true, it will be painful."

Confused, but none the less excited about the prospect of learning of his mother, Jon eagerly took Harry's offered hand. But what Harry did next greatly confused Jon. Instead of using some strange magic to send them a world away or even just telling Jon the name of his mother, Harry lifted the ring adorning his right hand to his lips and whispered to the stone imbedded in the metal. The stone glowed and there was a rush of wind with no breeze around them. And then silence.

"My boy…my son."

Turning so quickly his head hurt, Jon's eyes widened as he found a new woman standing just behind him. Her almost midnight black hair hung down freely and her grey eyes, his eyes, stared down at him with a warmth he'd never experienced before. Even if he didn't know her name, he knew without a doubt in his soul that the woman before him was his mother. A small voice in the back of his mind was screaming that he recognized her, but he pushed that down in favor of just staring at the woman. "Mother." He breathed, making to stand and go to her, only to find himself halted as Harry's grip tightened on his hand, forcing him to stay put.

Jon wanted to protest about why he was being held back from his mother. But then he saw it. The slight glow on the ruby stone that adorned the ring. '_This is the Resurrection stone.'_ He remembered Harry telling him just a few moments prior. _'Capable of bringing the spirits of the dead back to the realm of the living for a short time. But they are only visible to the one who wields it and those they have direct contact with'._

A weight settled in Jon's stomach as his mind slowly connected the dots. Turning back to his mother, Jon stared up at the woman he would've given anything to meet and hold if even just once. Now…and impossibility. "You're…you're dead."

"Yes." The woman nodded sadly as she stepped towards him, her feet not making a sound as they touched the ground. "But that doesn't mean that I love you any less my son. I'm proud of the man you're becoming. And so is your father."

Jon felt his chest swell with pride. "I've…I've tried my best to please father…mother. Lord Stark…father…has been kind allowing me to stay with him and be raised amongst his true born sons and daughters."

Jon's saw his mother's smile falter as she looked at him. "A – Jon. Lord Stark…Eddard…Ned…well. Damn this is harder than I thought and I'm fucking dead!" Jon's brow rose almost to his hair line at hearing his mother curse. '_Ladies don't curse…at least that is what Lady Stark always says.' _"Jon, do you know just who I am?"

"Yes." Jon nodded as if it was the most obvious question to answer. "You're my mother."

The woman smiled and shook her head. "Well yes, I am. But, do you know my name?"

Jon blinked. "Um…no."

His mother sighed and moved to sit down next to him. Unable to help himself, Jon reached out to touch her, only to have his hand pass through her shoulder as if it wasn't even there. "I'm sorry my son." There were tears forming in the corners of his mothers' eyes as she stared at him. "Sorrier than you can ever imagine. I left you all alone…and I now I fear I'm going to hurt you more."

Jon could feel his own tears starting to form as he stared up longingly at his dead mother. "Mother…what-"

"My name," his mother continued before he could say anything. "My name…is Lyanna Stark. Your father…your true father…is Rheagar Targaryen. Your name, your true name, is not Jon Snow my son. Your true name is Aegon Targaryen."

His heart seized in his chest as he stared up at his mother. '_I'm…no…it's…this…it has to be a lie! I…I can't be…'_ But even as his heart and mind tried desperately to deny what he'd been told, he couldn't help but think back to what his fa – Lord Stark, told him before he left. '_Even though you might not carry our name, the blood of the Starks, the Ancient King's of Winter, runs through your veins.'_ Had he been trying to tell Jon that he wasn't his son? That he wasn't even a Stark?

Shaking his head, Jon tried to deny what was right before him. "No…this can't…it' can't be true."

"I'm sorry Jon." Harry's voice sounded far away to Jon even though he was holding his hand. "I told you, this would be painful. But it is the true. I swear to you."

Jon's breath shortened as tears started to flow freely down his face. '_No! This is can't…Robb. Sansa. Arya. Bran. They're not…they're not my brothers and sisters. I'm…I'm not a Stark. No.' _"No!" Jon screamed aloud, ripping his hand out of Harry's. The moment the two lost contact with one another, his mother disappeared from his eyes. "No! It's not true!"

He vaguely heard the Ladies that accompanied Harry call out for him as Jon shot to his feet and started running.

* * *

Sitting at the table and staring down at the empty space that Jon had just vacated, Harry let out a sigh. "I'm sorry." He said, turning his attention to the ghostly apparition of Lyanna Stark, who had tears freely falling down her face as she stared after her retreating son.

"It's my fault." Lyanna Stark cried softly. "I left him alone in this world. Let him to live a lie."

"You're not fully responsible for his current situation." Harry responded, making the dead woman snort.

"You know that you're shit at comforting someone." Lyanna replied as she hugged herself. "Do…do you think that he'll forgive me?"

"He will, in time."

"How do you know?" Lyanna asked, turning to him.

"Because I lived a lie just similarly to your son for the first eleven years of my life as well." Harry responded. "Right now, he's in denial as everything that he's ever known has been uprooted. Once he comes to terms with what he's learned, he will forgive you."

"I hope that your right." Lyanna cried softly as her apparition disappeared as Harry sent her spirit back to the afterlife.

Once again alone with only his Angels, Harry let himself sag as he felt his power waning. "You need to stop doing shit like this Harry." Ginny said from beside him. "I keep up at this pace-"

"It was necessary." Harry defended his actions. "He needed to know the truth before he can take up the mantle."

"And what if he doesn't?" Daphne asked. "We're betting everything on him. If he turns it down-"

"Then we will respect his choice." Harry cut in quickly. "I will not become another Dumbledore and force this on another without them knowing the full consequences of their choices."


	6. Chapter 6

**Welcome back everyone! Got another chapter done in a week so…yeah lol. Just don't get your hopes up that I'll be able to keep this pace up indefinitely. Just wanted to take a moment and say a big thank you to everyone who has added this story to their favorites, are following this story or who have reviewed. Thank you all so much!**

**Now, one thing about the last chapter. I got quite a bit of flake for using the name Aegon for Jon. Now, there is a theory as to why he would be named as such stemming from ASOFI, which I find quite plausible. So, I'm going with that theory. If you don't know what one I'm talking about, we'll get to it in a few chapters or so. Oh, and for those of you who are worried that Harry won't be playing a part in this story for long, he will still be showing up with some frequency throughout this story.**

**Now, to talk about the elephant in the room…the show. So, Arya killing the Night King, you go girl. But that also invalidates the prophecy of the Prince-Who-Was-Promised. Unless of course the Night King isn't dead (which if you remember, he was turning children into White Walkers, so maybe he made one that wasn't directly tied to him or something idk). **

**Second, while I think I know what they are planning with the last couple of episodes and they've been setting up for…I think it could've worked a lot better if they'd just taken their time. The first five season felt like they were moving at a snail's pace. Season six I feel was their best season by far. Mostly because of it's pacing. These past two seasons it's felt like the writers are just tired and want to be done so they're sprinting towards the end and trying to force a lot of changing character traits down our throats quickly. If the show ends the way I think it will, I won't say that I'd be disappointed (after all, Martin's whole thing with ASOFI is that real life isn't a fairy tale where there are always happy endings), but I do wish that they could've taken the time to flush out these character developments more.**

**Okay, rant over lol.**

**Hope that you all enjoy the chapter and please leave a review if you feel so inclined! Oh, and to the people that have pointed out my grammar mistakes, please provide examples of corrections. I'm not a professional writer and I have no beta, so, while I think my writing has improved, it can always get better.**

**Standard disclaimer, I do not own GOT/ASOFI or HP and I am making no monetary gain off of this, this is just purely for fun.**

**Chapter 6**

Jon didn't know where he was heading as his feet carried him away from his mentor and mother, all he knew was that he needed to get away as fast as possible. Stumbling out of the cave, he blinked against the unrelenting sunlight as he turned about wildly amid the circle of weirwoods. Feeling his feet carry him to the nearest carved face, Jon fell to his knees and slammed his small fist as hard as he could against the ancient white tree.

"Why?" He cried, not caring about the tears staining his face. "Why? What have I done to be cursed so? I didn't want Winterfell…all I wanted was to be a Stark!"

But now, that would never happen. Falling against the trunk of the tree, Jon wept openly as he curled in on himself. He wasn't a Stark. He wasn't even a bastard. He was a…a Targaryen. '_I would rather be a bastard than a dragon!'_

"So…you've finally learned the truth."

Stifling his tears as best he could, Jon glanced over his shoulder. Standing no more than a few paces behind him was Lord Reed. His eyes downcast and his body slack. Sitting up, Jon hiccupped as he talked through the tears. "You…you knew?"

Lord Reed didn't meet his eyes. "I did."

His heart plummeted at the confirmation. It wasn't a lie. He wasn't a Stark. "W-why?"

The Crannogman didn't answer his question, instead the older man sat down next to Jon and tentatively wrapped his arm around Jon's shoulder. Jon resisted, but quickly gave up as he leaned into the older man as he desperately sought out any sort of comfort. "Your mother, Lyanna. She was the bravest and best woman I've ever known. Your mother, gods bless her, gave her life to bring you into this world. With her last breath, she begged Lord Stark to protect you. And so, he did. Using the only way he could think of."

"By naming me a bastard." Jon spat, anger seeping into his voice even through his tears. "Is...is that why he named me so? Because he hates me for killing his sister…my mother."

"You did not kill your mother Jon." Lord Reed said sharply, drawing Jon's attention to him. "Never think that. And Lord Stark, Ned, he doesn't hate you. He loves you just as much as if you were his own true son."

Sniffling, Jon tried desperately to wrap his mind around everything. "But why…why did he name me his…his bastard?"

He could feel Lord Reed's body stiffen ever so slightly against him. "Ned never told you all what happened during the Sacking of Kings Landing did he?"

Leaning away from Lord Reed, Jon thought back on all the stories that his fath – Lord Stark had told them of the Rebellion. "He…he told us that all the Targaryen's died."

"They did." Lord Reed nodded. "But that is a simplification of what truly happened. I was there. Your second-mother Elia Martel and your half-siblings Rhaenys and Aegon, they weren't just killed. They were murdered. Aegon's head was crushed in the hands of the Ser Gregor Clegane, who then proceeded to rape Elia to death with her son's blood sill on his hands. And Rhaenys, still only a child, was stabbed over a hundred times. Then their bodies were wrapped in Lannister cloaks and presented to Robert Baratheon. He took one look at their mangled corpses and smiled. Then he not only rewarded those that killed two children and defenseless woman, but he offered a reward to anyone who brought them the bodies of the remaining Targaryen's. And you Jon, Aegon, you are not only a Targaryen but proof that Robert's Rebellion was built on a lie.

"Lyanna was abducted by Rheagar. She not only went with him willingly but married him as well. If word ever got, the realm would be thrown into chaos. Robert would demand your life, then Ned would have to explain the truth. The Realm would be divided once again, and we would thrown back into war. By claiming you were his bastard son, he was able to not only keep his promise to his sister to raise and protect you. But he was also able to stave off another war that would've torn the Kingdoms asunder once again."

Unsure of what to say, Jon stayed quiet as he stared off into the distance and absorbed the tale. "Why…why didn't my mother tell anyone she went with Rhea…my father? If she had the war…it all could've been avoided."

Feeling a hand on his back, Jon leaned once more onto Lord Reed. "I don't know Jon. Only the dead can answer that question now. But Jon, even though Eddard may not have sired you, he still raised you as one of his own and he still loves you. And most off all remember this. A child is not responsible for the sins of their parents. You are your own man. Your life is yours to live. And no one else."

A new-found resolve swelled within Jon at Lord Reed's words. '_How many times has Harry Potter told me that same line? My life is my own live. And it's up to me, not others, about how I live it.'_ "Thank you, Lord Reed." Jon said, rising to his feet. "I'm…I need to go again."

"I understand." Lord Reed responded, moving back so that his back was against the weirwood. "Take your time Jon. I'm sure that _he_ has a lot to teach you."

* * *

Sitting at the table he'd conjured for himself and Jon, Harry idly flipped through a book he'd summoned from the shelves as he waited. Feeling the air shift within the room, Harry smiled slightly to himself as he continued to read. "So, you've come back." He said, looking up from the pages to look at the young man that'd entered the room.

Just within the entrance to his room Jon Snow, or rather Aegon Targaryen, stood stock still like a deer caught in the light. "Yes." Jon nodded as he slowly made his way towards him.

Closing the book he was reading, Harry waited until Jon had retaken his seat before speaking again. "How are you feeling?"

Across from him, Jon gave off a huff. "I don't know honestly. My life…everything I've known has been a lie. And I…I…"

"You don't know where to go from here?" Harry finished for him, to which Jon nodded. "It's understandable Jon, or would you prefer Aegon?"

"Jon." Jon answered almost immediately. "Aegon just…sounds…weird I guess."

"Jon." Harry nodded. "Things may seem, forgive my language, completely fucked right now. But trust me when I say that things will get better in time."

Jon didn't say anything or do anything. He just simply sat at the table, looking down at the wooden surface with a blank look on his face. "Will you…were you serious about…making me your Heir?"

"Very." Harry nodded.

Jon raised his head and Harry met the boy's eyes. "Why? Is it because I'm a Stark and a…Targaryen?"

"Honestly, yes." Harry responded without hesitation. "The Starks have strong magic within them, even if it is dormant at the moment. And the Targaryen's are the last of the Dragon Lords and have strong magic as well. Both of those lines are now combined within you. But blood alone isn't why I chose you of all the people in this world. I've been watching you for a long time. You're a good person Jon. And I can tell that you're going to grow to be a good man. One capable of wielding the power of the Master of Death and not letting it destroy who they are."

Harry could see the wheels turning in the boy's mind. "What…what does it mean to be…well…you?"

"An interesting question. And not one that is easily answered. To put it simply, there are two specific duties of the Master of Death. The first is to safeguard the Deathly Hallows from falling into the wrong hands. The second however is not quite so easy to explain." Rubbing his chin, Harry waved his hand and created three different colored spheres that hovered over the table. "In a very broad scope, consider that all of life is divided up into three 'realms'. First, is the land of the living, the realm we are in. Second, is the realm of the gods. And last is the realm of the dead or the afterlife. The Master of Death serves as almost an intermediary between all three realms but is also forced to stay within the realm of the living."

Jon's eyes went almost comically wide as the implications sunk in. "You mean…you've met the gods?"

"As will you, in time." Harry nodded, to which Jon's eyes widened even further. "R'hllor. The Many-Faced God. The Old Gods. The Drowned God. The Black Goat. The Seven. And all the other deities that've staked a claim on this world. And some even from beyond. Each of whom have a different agenda. Some benevolent and some benign. The Master of Death stands as…almost as a Vanguard for the world of mortals against the realm of the gods and the afterlife. As well as a keeper of the Deathly Hallows."

Jon's complexion turned ashen as the young boy looked ready to faint. "You've…you've fought against the gods?"

"In a way." Harry nodded. "I've butted heads with them on occasion, but we've never come into direct confrontation."

"Whoa…" Jon muttered, his face still pale.

"Indeed." Harry smiled. "Kind of makes all the machinations of the Houses of Westeros seem pale in comparison, doesn't it?"

"Just a little." Jon nodded. "But…why are you even passing on the title of Master of Death? Aren't you…well…almost a god? And why not pass it on to your children. Lady Ginevra is your wife and…wait…where are your Ladies?"

"We're still here Jon." Ginny said, appearing out of nothing right behind Harry. "We're always here with Harry."

"My Angels are never far from me Jon." Harry said with a smile as he felt Ginny's ethereal hand rest on his shoulder. "But, to answer your question as to just why I'm passing on this responsibility…well…there are rules Jon. Rules that all beings must follow even the gods. And one of those rules is that all things must have a beginning and an end. As all living beings and even gods will eventually die…so too am shall I."

"You're…you're dying?" Jon gaped.

"Yes." Harry nodded. "There is a reason as to why I haven't left this Isle in two millennia Jon. My Angels…their bodies withered and died. But…I couldn't let them pass on without me."

Jon's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean? You mean…the Lady Ginevra and the others they're…they're spirits? And you're not letting them pass on to the afterlife? Why?"

"Because my Angels are bound to me in mind and soul." Harry answered, feeling a warmth spread through him as Ginny's presence merged with his own. "When the Master of Death dies, those that are bonded to them die as well and as one pass into the afterlife. But should one bonded to the Master of Death have their bond severed, either through death or voluntarily by the Master of Death, then their soul will be trapped in the realm between realms that is known only as the Void. A place of unending darkness with no escape. They'd be beyond my reach and the reach of the gods should they become trapped there. And while there are some that I might consider sending to such a hell, but not the women that I've spent eight millennia with.

"So, to keep them from getting trapped in the Void when their bodies died, we came up with a solution. We modified an old dark ritual and used it to anchor their entire soul to the figurines in this room. This way, their souls will stay in this realm with me and won't be sent to the Void. But such a ritual was costly. I had to sacrifice a lot of my strength to perform it and even more to maintain it. I've been using a fair portion of my power to keep them anchored and intact with me. But I've also lived for a long time. Longer than any, even the Master of Death, is supposed to. Right now, it's taking almost all my power to keep myself alive and keep my Angels anchored fully in this realm. And to tell you the truth Jon…we're bored. So incredibly bored. We've lived just about every life you can imagine from simple farmers to rulers of a nation. We've even raised children, not our own, and watched them grow to have families of their own. We've everything you could possibly conceive of. And now we're ready for what comes next."

"But, if you want to die…and you say that you're struggling to keep yourself and your Ladies, well, alive. Then…why? Why do you stay?" Jon asked, leaning forward, completely enraptured with every word Harry spoke.

"Because of the Hallows Jon." Harry explained. "The Hallows have a will of their own. I won't say they're fully sentient, but they are close. They want to be wielded. Without a Master of Death to keep all three in check, they will find their way back out into the world. Now imagine if they were to fall into the hands of the Slave Masters of Essos? Or perhaps Tywin Lannister? Imagine the death and devastation they could cause. That is why there must always be a Master of Death Jon. And that is why I've held on for so many eons until I could find that I believed could not only wield the Hallows but had the heart and will to resist their pull of corruption."

"And as for why I don't pass the title onto my children…well that is because I have none." Harry continued, feeling his own heart grow heavy even as Ginny's warm presence blossomed in this chest. "It is possible for the Master of Death to reproduce Jon. It's difficult mind you. But possible. But for those who are bonded to the Master of Death…magic itself will prevent them from having children as they cannot have anything that could divide their loyalties from me. And I could never see myself having a child with anyone other than my Angels."

Across from him, he saw Jon trying to keep up with everything that was being said. "Is…is there anything else?"

Laughing to himself, Harry leaned back and regarded the young boy. "There is a lifetime of information you need to know Jon. Unfortunately, we don't have a lifetime to go over everything. But there is one more thing that you need to know before you make your decision."

Looking up, Jon met his gaze. "What?"

"The Night King."

"He's a myth." Jon retorted quickly before blushing. "But then…so were you."

"You're catching on quick Jon." Harry chuckled before turning serious once again. "The Night King is very real Jon. Eight thousand years ago I helped to the turn the tide of the War for the Dawn and forced the Night King to retreat back into the Lands of Always Winter where his power near equal to mine own. Since then, he has stayed in the for north and avoid all contact with the outside world as he waited."

"Waited for what?" Jon asked.

"For the world to forget him." Harry explained. "Even after only a thousand or so years with no sighting of him he became little more than a myth. Now, no one even believes that he exists. But another reason why he has waited for so long was because he was waiting for me to die. He knows that once he is away from the far northern lands his power will start to wane and he will stand no chance against me. So, instead of meeting me head on, he's simply waiting for me to pass from this life to the next. Even after I pass the land will have years, maybe even decades before he can make his move. The responsibility for defeating him will be passed on to you."

It was a lot to unload on such a young boy, Harry knew this. But he also didn't have any choice. Time was a luxury he didn't have at the moment. If Jon refused, he would have to go into a deep hibernation once again to retain his power and hope that his continued existence would stave off the Night King's advance for at least a century or more. But he'd also made Jon a promise. He wouldn't lie to him. And he wasn't like some old codger he could name that would use children for his own gain. Harry wanted this to be Jon's decision. And he wanted him to make it knowing at least the majority of the facts.

Jon, for his part, had gone as still as a statue. "I – I…me? Defeat…"

"That is the burden with becoming the Master of Death Jon." Harry explained. "You gain a lot, and I mean a lot, of power. But in return for the power comes a lot of responsibility."

Jon swallowed as he visibly tried to process everything. "You…do you think I'm ready?"

"Ready? Oh fuck no." Harry snorted, which made Jon visibly recoil. "But then again, no one is truly ready for this Jon. I'll do my best to teach you everything I can in what time I have available to me. But should you choose that you don't want this…then that will be the end of it. I will have to go back into a deep slumber until another is born with the power capable of handling the Hallows."

Across from him, Jon went silent. Weaving his fingers together, Harry set his arms down on the tabletop as he waited for Jon's decision. After nearly ten minutes of complete silence, Jon let out a sigh. "It's not much of a choice. I…I'm scared of what you've told me. But if…if the Night King is real and he's coming…and if I pass this opportunity to help save my family…then I would truly be a bastard." Pausing to take a breath, Jon straightened his back and met Harry head on. "I accept."

Harry nearly let out a sigh of relief. '_Finally, after so long there is a light at the end of the tunnel.'_ "Good. Then let us get started. We have a lot to go over and not a lot of time to do it. So, we're going to have to cheat."

Before Jon could utter a work, Harry reached across the table and grabbed Jon by the head, pressing his fingers against the boy's temples. There was a sudden rush as if the ground gave way beneath them both followed by a sensation of falling as the world around them disappeared.

"By the gods!" Jon shouted as the falling sensation ceased and the two were left in a void of black swirling clouds. "Where…where are we?"

"In the one place where I can control everything." Harry answered with a smile as he waved his hand through the air, making the black smoke roll back. "In my mind."

Jon whirled about with an open mouth as the two stood amid the swirling mists. Before their eyes, a castle rose out of the mists, rising high in the sky as the castle built itself up brick by brick. "By the gods." Jon breathed, staring at the steadily growing castle. "I've…I've never seen a castle like that!"

"I would be surprised if you had." Harry shrugged as he walked forward towards the still constructing bridge leading towards the interior of the castle. "This castle is known as Hogwarts. And before you say anything, I did not name it. And I honestly believe the Founders were high or very drunk when they named the place. But regardless of its name, and a few of the people within, Hogwarts was my haven when I was your age. And it was also the place where I learned how to control my magic."

As the two walked through the courtyard and into the castle proper, Harry felt a smile come over him as he watched Jon spin around in circles as he stared in open mouth wonder at the still forming castle around them. By the time they reached the grand staircase and started their ascent, Jon finally brought his attention back around to Harry. "You said that…we're in your mind?"

"From a certain point of view." Harry responded as the stairwell started to move when they were halfway up, changing directly and rising to the next floor. "Our physical bodies are still where we left them. I just pulled your consciousness into my own. This is the easiest way I can teach you what you need to know. Partially because I can slowly transfer the knowledge you need into your mind through our link. But don't that I'm going to give you even a fraction of what I know. Even a small amount would overload and turn your brain into a fried egg. But the main reason I pulled you in here is because while we're here I can manipulate time."

"You can manipulate time?" Jon asked excitedly. "Will I be able to do that?"

Stopping, Harry fixed Jon with a firm glare that had the boy freezing mid-step. "I'm not truly manipulating time. I can go into a very long in-depth explanation on how right now I'm using magic to alter the chemical make up in our brains and promoting activations of the neurons while controlling the adrenaline coursing through our systems to make time seem like it's passing by slower. But I feel as if that would be a waste of time. But to answer your question, yes I can manipulate time on a small scale. But that is something you must never attempt until you've had at least several centuries to study Time magic. The same goes with the weather. Alter the weather too much and you cause a cataclysmic cascade that could eventually destroy all life on this planet. Understand?"

Jon's eyes were wide with fear and awe. "Um…yes sir."

"Good." Harry nodded, turning on his heel and continuing their way. "Now, before we begin do you have any last questions you wish to ask me?"

"How long will we be…well in your mind?" Jon asked tentatively.

"In the physical world? As long as I can hold on for." Harry answered. "But in here? To give you a better idea of the math, for each hour that passes to the outside world, over two months will pass in here. Any other questions?"

"Um, you talked about your Ladies…your Angels. Will I, will I have them as well?" Jon asked as the two entered the hall leading to the Hogwarts library.

"Yes." Harry nodded as the two made their way into the library were a single table two chairs sat waiting for them. "What you need to understand Jon is that the power of the Hallows is too much for one single person, even the Master of Death. Our physical bodies were not meant to contain such raw power. So, to counter this a bond between yourself and four others will be required to ensure that the power that you'll gain doesn't rip you apart."

"That," Jon said slowly as he took a seat in one of the chairs. "That doesn't sound pleasant."

Shaking his head, Harry took the other seat opposite from Jon. "No, it isn't."

Looking around with wide eyes, Jon didn't seem to know what to focus on as he watched several books start to float off the shelves before staking themselves neatly next to the two of them. "So…can I bond anyone that I want?"

Holding out his hand and grabbing a book that was floating through the air, Harry began flipping through its pages before finding the one he desired. Harry and his girls had had a lot of free time to study their bond in-depth, and the book in his hand contained all his knowledge on the subject. "Not necessarily. You will feel a certain pull towards those who are compatible with you and able to become bonded with you. And until you've found all four, you will feel dozens of potential candidates. The powerful the pull, the more advantageous the bond will be for the both of you. And you won't be the only one to feel the pull. Maybe one or two that have a high correlation with you will seek you out instead of the other way around."

"How is it…advantageous? Yes, advantageous for them?" Jon asked curiously as Harry handed the book over to him.

"The idea behind the bonding is two-fold. One, those bonded with the Master of Death become his or her guardians. They ensure that you stay alive. Which means they must be near on par with you, which in turn feeds into the second aspect of the bonding. Those bonded with you will share in a portion of the power you've gained." Harry explained as the book auto flipped through several pages before stopping once again. "Their physical attributes will be enhanced far beyond any human in existence. Any latent or active magical powers they have will be amplified ten-fold. And they might even gain a few powers that are completely unique to themselves that are based off their personalities."

"Oh," Jon mumbled, staring down at the open book before him. "That umm, I can see how that would be good for them."

"Yes." Harry nodded. "But you need to be careful Jon. You just don't want to go and bond the first four eligible people you find. You need to remember that you will be sharing the next several millennia with them. And you also need to keep in mind just what you are taking away from them. But don't worry about finding them right away. I've spent centuries studying this power and have come up with a solution. A seal of sorts. Your body will be marked with visible runes that will either fade in time or as you bond with those capable of doing. This way you can take your time finding those you want bonded to you without having to worry about your power tearing you apart. But you do have a time limit. At best my seal will be able to contain your power for five to ten years. And you also won't be at full power until the bonding is complete. Understand?"

Licking his lips, Jon turned a page in the book. "I – I think so."

"Good." Harry nodded, pushing the book away and grabbing another out of the air, this one easily as thick as two fists stacked on top of each other. Dropping the book down in front of Jon, Harry turned back the cover. "So, let's begin. Chapter one, the basics of transfiguration."

* * *

Feeling the world rush up at him, Jon fell to the ground like a puppet with his strings cut the moment Harry's hand left his forehead. Convulsing and gasping for breath, Jon curled in on himself as he tried in vain to stem the tide of the migraine racing through his head. "What the fuck were you thinking Harry?" Jon could vaguely hear the Lady Ginevra scream. "You two were in your mindscape for over twelve fucking hours!"

"It was necessary." Jon could hear Harry gasp.

Forcing his hands under him, Jon slowly and painfully first rose to his knees and then, using the table and bench as support, slowly lifted himself up to his feet. Across from him, he could see that his mentor and friend was still laying on the ground while the four ethereal forms of his Angels surrounded him. "Twelve hours?" Jon thought to himself as he closed his eyes in an attempt to fight against the pain in his head. "It…we were in there for years."

"I told you Jon." Harry mumbled as he managed to sit upright. "Time flowed differently in my mind. Where we spent over three years together, here only half a day has passed."

"Incredible." Jon murmured.

Deciding to test himself, he waved his hand and focused. In response to his will a clay pitcher formed on the middle of the table and was quickly filled with water as he condensed the moisture from the air into the interior of the pitcher. With a second motion he created a small cup, which he quickly filled with the cooled water and brought over to the still downed Harry. Kneeling, he helped his old mentor by bringing the cup to his lips and helping him take a drink.

"When do you think we'll be able to go back?" Jon asked, eager to return to Harry's inner mind once more and resume their training.

Coughing, Harry wiped at the few droplets of water that ran down his chin. "We don't." Harry said with a tone of finality. "That was all I had Jon. What little power I still have left within me is all that is keeping my bones from turning to dust."

Harry's words settled in on Jon like a metal blanket. "No." Jon whispered. "You can't…I still have so much to learn! I – I'm not ready!"

"No one truly is ready for this Jon." Harry stated firmly before reaching out with his hand waving something over.

Hearing metal and wood scraping against stone, Jon turned and saw two large chests sliding across the ground towards them. "My final gift to you Jon." Harry rasped. "I leave this Isle to you. These books are yours. And in the room just over there…is a vault with enough gold and jewels to buy the Seven Kingdoms twice over. Take what you need and use it well. But don't feel like you need to take everything in one go. This place will last for several thousand years with or without your presence."

"Harry." Jon croaked, his voice almost leaving him completely. "I – I can't do this without you."

"Yes, you will." Harry responded in a tone that brokered no argument. "You're strong Jon. Stronger than you know. You will surpass what is to come. And besides, this isn't truly goodbye." Holding up his hand, Harry displayed the ring on his right hand. "All you need do is call me and I will offer what council I can. Just don't expect me to solve all your problems. I'm looking forward to a nice long retirement. Seaside on a beach with a drink and my Angels and not a care in the world. So, try not to bother me too much, deal?"

"Deal." Jon nodded even as the tears started to pool in the corners of his eyes. "So, what happens now?"

Without saying a word, Harry reached up and grasped hold of the cloak on his shoulders. As if it had a mind of its own, which was a possibility now that Jon thought about it, the cloak flowed off Harry as if it were made of water before folding neatly in his hand. "I, Harry James Potter, do hereby surrender the Cloak of Invisibility of the Deathly Hallows to Aegon 'Jon' Targaryen. So mote it be."

Jon felt something almost settle over him, and before he could blink the cloak was gone. It took him almost a full minute to figure out that the settling sensation was the cloak settling over his shoulders at the end of Harry's proclamation. Next, Harry held up his right hand. "I, Harry James Potter, do hereby surrender the Resurrection Stone of the Deathly Hallows to Aegon 'Jon' Targaryen. So mote it be."

This time Jon was ready for it. But it was still a jarring experience to witness the large silver ring disappear from Harry's hand, only to reappear on his own a moment later. "And now the last," Harry breathed, drawing forth the bone white wand, the last of the Deathly Hallows.

The wand shimmered and lengthened in Harry's hand. When the shimmering ceased the wand was gone, replaced with a longsword with a two-handed grip and a bone white blade that was finer than any castle forged steel Jon had ever seen. Taking the sword, Jon inspected the blade carefully. The blade was remarkable. The what Jon's attention the most was the pummel. A white figurine adorned the pummel. At a passing or even a studious glance it looked like a snarling wolf. But upon closer inspection one could make the claim that it wasn't a wolf at all, but rather a dragon's head.

"The Death Stick is unique to the other two Hallows." Harry rasped. "It can take on multiple forms of the users choosing. But it is also the pickiest. Ownership of the Death Stick cannot be given away so easily."

Tearing his eyes off the blade, Jon turned his attention back to Harry. "What do you mean?"

Pushing himself up into a proper sitting position, Harry reached out and grabbed hold of the blade and brought it down so that the tip of the blade was placed directly over the man's heart. "In order to gain full and complete ownership of the Death Stick or Elder Wand, you need to kill the previous owner. In this case, me."

The full implication hit Jon like a battering ram. "No." Jon shook his head, trying to pull the blade away but Harry proved he still had some strength left in him as the blade didn't budge from his hold. "I can't murder you!"

"It's not murder Jon." Harry countered. "You're setting my Angels and myself free. Please, Jon. Aegon. We've lived a long time and we're ready to see what comes next. Set us free."

"Please Jon." The Lady Ginevra said as she materialized beside Harry with her fellow Ladies Daphne, Susan and Luna. "This is what we want. Many don't to get to choose how they leave this life. Please, allow us now to leave on our own terms."

Grabbing the hilt in both hands, Harry felt tears fall freely from his eyes. "I'm…I'm sorry."

Beneath the blade, Harry merely smiled up at him. "This is not the end Jon, nor is it goodbye. Merely the next passage in our existence. One we are ready to take."

Breathing slowly, Jon closed his eyes and tried in vain to calm himself. Opening his eyes, he made sure to meet Harry's green eyes. His hands didn't even like his own as the blade descended. There was no resistance as the razor-sharp edge pierced through Harry's robes and flesh on its path to his heart. A flash of light blinded Jon as the blade pierced the former Master of Death's heart. And next he knew Jon was flying through the air before coming to a sudden and abrupt stop against the hard-stone floor.

* * *

Across Westeros and Essos, dozens of eyes snapped wide open as they all felt something shift within them. Most simply shrugged the sensation off and returned to what they were doing. Others however felt a pulling sensation leading them off in a certain direction. And two felt the pull more than any as they were left bent over and gasping for breath as they tried to comprehend just what happened to them.

In the far North in the lands of Always Winter, the Night King's attention snapped towards the south as he felt something. A grin slowly crossed his face as he felt the being that'd thwarted his last attack pass from this life and move on to the next.

* * *

Rolling over on the floor, Jon groaned as every part of his body ached something fierce. '_By the gods.'_ He gasped. '_I haven't felt this bad since Harry had me-'_ At the thought of his old mentor, Jon's head towards the spot he'd last seen his mentor. The place where he'd ended his life. But instead of finding a corpse sitting upright, there was nothing in the room. No body. Nothing. It was as if Harry and his Ladies had simply…disappeared.

Putting his hands underneath him to get up, Jon had to stop himself as he realized he was holding something in his hand. '_The Death Stick.'_ Jon thought as he stared at the bone-white blade still clutched in his right hand. '_Although…I think I need to come up with a different name for it. I'm not one for wands so 'stick' doesn't really work when it's a sword. Maybe…Deaths Bane?'_ Jon nearly let go of the sword as he felt something almost like contentment coming from the sword. '_Okay…Deaths Bane it is I guess.'_

Letting go of the sword in order to brace his hands underneath him, Jon pushed himself up and got back to his feet. As he reached back down for the sword, he noticed something strange in the dim light of the torches lining the walls. A black mark on hi forearm that he knew wasn't there before. Pulling back the cuff of his sleeve, Jon stared in wonder at the swirling black pattern that was weaved around his arm like a vine traveling up his arm. Checking his other arm he found identical markings and when pulled back the collar of his shirt, he saw that the marking continued onto his chest and across his body.

'_These almost look like…runes.'_ Jon thought as he tried to study the markings on his body as best he could, even going so far as to take off his shirt to better see them. '_Are these the 'seals' that Harry said he would put on me to contain the power of the Master of Death until I find whoever I need to bond too? Couldn't Harry have gone with something a little less…well…obvious?'_

Rolling his sleeves back down, Jon pick Deaths Bane up off the floor and began a close study of the sword. The sword was nearly as long as Ice or Wolfs Blood, but it was definitely slightly longer than the average longsword that Jon had seen around Winterfell. But compared to those longsword, which Jon wielding for more than a few minutes. Deaths Bane on the other hand was light, almost unbelievably so. '_Huh, magic is incredible. Now I just need a sheath a – whoa.'_ As soon as the thought entered his mind, a sheath made of find leather and metal bands complete with a belt appeared around the blade of the sword. '_God.'_ Jon thought, securing the belt around his slim waist. '_I need to be careful about what I think while holding the Hallows I guess.'_

Finishing latching the belt, Jon's hands stilled as he caught sight of the large silver ring resting on the ring finger of his right hand. His heart hammered in his chest as he stared down at the blood red stone that dominated the center of the ring. '_The Resurrection Stone.'_ Jon thought while copying Harry's movements just hours before as he brought the stone to his lips and closing his eyes. '_Mother.'_

Jon stumbled slightly as the stone glowed and he could feel his magic surging into the ring as a rush of wind without a breeze filled his ears as he felt a presence form just before him. Opening his eyes slowly, Jon stared in wonder at the young woman before him. Lyanna Stark. His mother. The woman that Robert Baratheon went to war for. The woman who died bringing him into this world.

For a long time neither said a word as they merely stared at one another. Finally, after only the gods knew how long, his mother broke the silence between them. "My son. My little dragon-wolf. My Aegon."

Jon felt himself choke on his words as he stared at the woman he never knew. "I – I've only known Jon."

His mother smiled sadly at him. "I know my son. I'm – gods I can't even begin to express how sorry I am that I left you alone in this world. But Ned has raised you into a fine young man. One that would make any mother proud to call her son."

A waring of emotion fought within him at the pride his mother had in him against thoughts of his fath – Lord Stark. As if sensing the battle within him, his mother stepped forward and laid and ethereal hand against his cheek. He cursed fate that he couldn't feel her touch, the gesture meant more to Jon than anything. "Don't judge your Uncle too harshly Jon." His mother said sadly. "He was put into a difficult position once I gave you to him. One that didn't have a good solution. If he'd named you as my true-born son the war would've started up again. If he'd named you my bastard, Robert and Tywin would've stopped at nothing to kill you and few would've stood in their way. Taking you as his bastard son was the only way he could protect you and raise you safely."

"That's what Lord Reed said." Jon replied.

"Howland is a good man." His mother smiled, taking a step back from him. "I wish I could stay longer Jon, but you need to let me go. You're not quite ready for this yet. I can tell that your power is waning. It's getting more and more difficult for me to remain on this side of the Veil."

Jon wanted to deny it, but his mother's words were true. He could feel himself wavering as he had focus more and more on keeping the connection through the ring. "Will…will I be able to see you again?"

"Yes." His mother nodded. "But Jon, remember what Harry warned you about. The Hallows, they're all dangerous in their own way. And that ring is perhaps the most sinister of the three. Don't live in the past Jon. Let us go and live your life. After all, I want to watch over my grandchildren one day. And that sure as hell won't happen if you're stuck in the past. But do me a favor. Eventually you need to talk with your father. The man has been a royal pain in the ass about not being able to talk to you at all lately. And quite frankly, it's getting annoying."

Jon choked slightly as he laughed at his mother's usage of language that was, according to Lady Stark, unbefitting of a Lady. "I will mother. Goodbye, mother."

Lyanna gave him a wide smile. "Goodbye son."

Letting go of the connection with the stone, Jon watched as his mother's form vanished from sight. Taking a deep breath, Jon tilted his head back and look up at the ceiling. '_I'll talk to you all again soon.'_ Taking a step forward, Jon let out a highly undignified yelp as his knees buckled and he faceplanted directly onto the floor. '_Maybe not too soon.'_ He thought, fighting through his fatigue and trying to get back to his feet.

After a several failed attempts to get back to his feet, Jon gave up and rolled over onto his back. Unbuckling Deaths Bane from around his waist, Jon set the sword off to the side as his eyelids started to feel heavier and heavier. '_I'll pack up everything tomorrow.'_ He thought, casting a tired glance towards the two small empty trunks not too far from where he'd fallen. '_I'm sure Jory and Lord Reed wouldn't mind waiting a day…well…even if they do…they're going to have to.'_

* * *

Standing at the edge of the Gods Eye, Jory Cassel picked up another random stone he'd managed to find and side armed it, managing to make the stone skip several times across the surface of the water before it sank. He knew that when Lord Stark had given him this assignment that it wouldn't be glamorous, but he had hoped that it wouldn't be this boring. He hadn't even had a chance to visit the legendary Isle of Faces. The mystical isle of the First Men and the Children of the Forest that only a few in living history had managed to step foot upon.

Failing to find another stone to throw, Jory gave up on staring out at the waterfront and made his way back towards the small camp that his fellow bannermen and the few crannogman had set up. Already two days had passed since Lord Reed and young Jon Snow had set off to the Isle. '_One more day.' _ Jory thought as he settled down by the fire next to his men. '_One more day and then myself and two others will make our way north to Harrenhal and ask the Lady Whent to borrow a raft so that we can get to the Isle and find Lord Reed and Jon.'_

Picking up a piece of cooked meat that one of his fellow guards offered him, Jory had the meat halfway to his mouth when three of the crannogman sitting across from him stood up, their eyes fixated on the lake behind him. '_Of course,'_ Jory cursed, setting the meat down, rising back to his feet and turning back to the lake. '_They would show back up the moment I turn my back.'_

And sure enough, just outside the reach of the mist were Lord Reed and Jon floating along the surface of the water in the same small boat they'd departed in two days prior. Walking to the lake side, Jory watched along with the rest of the Stark and Reed bannerman as the two drew closer to them. When they were almost at the shore, Jory noticed something. Jon was wearing a cloak of some sort that hadn't been there before. And he had a sword in his hands that Jory knew for a fact wasn't with them when the two made their trek to the Isle of Faces.

"Lord Reed, Jon." Jory called out as he waded into the water ankle deep in order to help beach the small boat. "I take it that whatever compelled this journey has been completed?"

"It was." Jon nodded, reaffirming his hold on his sword and jumping off the boat. It might've just been a trick of eye, but when Jory met the young boy's eyes, he looked far older than a boy of only one and ten name days. "If you could help us, we brought a few things back from the Isle with us."

Looking back to the raft, Jory saw two traveling trunks roughly half as tall as a man and just as wide. "You four," he called out, signaling four of the Stark guardsmen. "Come over here and gather young Jon's belongings."

As the trunks were removed from the boat and brought to the camp, Jory turned his attention back to Jon. "It's going to be difficult to transport those two back to the North." He told the bastard son of his liege Lord as the young man bucked his sword belt back onto his slim waist. "We don't have a wagon or anything o the like to transport them."

Jon's brow furrowed as he stared first at the camp and then towards the north. "The Crossroads roughly a day's ride from here right?"

"Aye." Lord Reed nodded, stepping up next to the two. "We'll be able to purchase a cart at the Inn. It shouldn't be too difficult to find something for such a small amount."

Jory nodded. "Aye, there ought to be someone willing to part with cart as long as the coin is right. And staying at the Crossroads for a night would do the men good after sleeping on the road for over a fortnight."

"Then that's what we'll do." Jon nodded.

Nodding, and secretly relieved that he would at least be able to spend one night on a soft bed, Jory turned back to the makeshift camp. "Alright lads. Get everything packed up! We want to make the Crossroads by nightfall at the latest!"

With the motivation of a hot meal and warm bed, and perhaps even some warm company, the men of House Stark and Reed broke down the camp at an almost dizzying pace. Within an hour the camp was completely broke down, the horses were saddled, and they were back on the road. The only thing that brought the whole process to a pause was when they had to figure out the best way to transport the two trunks. Carrying them was out of the question as they were both quite heavy. So after some careful configuring two saddles, the trunks were balanced atop of two horses with their riders walking alongside to keep them balanced.

"So, Jon," Jory said as they made their way back towards the Kingsroad. "Care to share just what brought us all down on this merry little jaunt?"

Jon made to answer, but whatever he was going to stay was silenced as Lord Reed pulled his horse to a sudden stop and turned southwards. "Riders approaching." The Lord of the Neck said before subtly motioning with his hand.

In response, three of the crannogman that'd joined them slipped out of the their saddles and with an agility that frankly baffled Jory, climbed up the nearest trees until they were well out of sight. Making a signal of his own, the guards of House Stark spread themselves out in a line, hands on their swords and bows ready for any confrontation. Just as Jory was about to question the Neck Lord about what he'd heard or seen, the sound of hooves striking the ground reached his ears and soon enough five riders, all wearing the sigil of House Tully on their breast piece, made their way through the trees and towards them.

"Ho there!" The lead rider called out, raising his hand. "Is that the banner of House Stark I see?"

"Aye." Jory responded, positioning himself slightly in front of Jon even as Lord Reed did the same. "I Jory Cassel, sworn vassal to Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell. Identify yourselves."

Coming to a halt a few paces away from them, the lead rider that'd called out to them gave Jory a lopsided grin. "Names Jarl, sworn to House Tully. Lord Tully sent us out to find ya."

Jory's brow furrowed, but none the less he lessened his grip on his sword. "Lord Tully sent you?" He asked, to which the lead rider nodded. "To what end?"

"M'Lord heard you were traveling through the Riverland's with the bastard of Winterfell." The leader explained. "Said he wanted us to come fetches the young man and bring him to Riverrun. Don't worry, he'll be safe with us."

Something wasn't right. But before he could question the man further, Jon rode his pony up between himself and Lord Reed. The young boy looked at the five riders in front of them before homing in on the leader. "I'm Jon Snow, bastard son of Lord Stark." Jon introduced himself. "You said that Lord Tully wishes to meet with me? At Riverrun?"

"Aye." The leader nodded with a pleasant grin. "Didn't rightly say why. Just that he wanted to meet with ya."

"That's curious." Jon muttered. "Because Lord Tully visited Winterfell just before the start of the Greyjoy rebellion with the purpose of meeting my half siblings, Lord Stark's trueborn children by his wife Lady Tully. He stayed for a fortnight, and during all that time he only spoke to me once. And that was to tell me that I was a disgrace to his daughter, the Lady Stark, and that I was unwelcome in his presence or in Riverrun for as long as I drew breath. He also said that if it were up to him, I would be exiled either across the Narrow Sea or to the Watch so that I would cause no problems for my trueborn brother and sisters."

Jory remember that incident. It was one of the few instances when he could truly remember his liege Lord getting so angry that could he couldn't speak. Lord Tully, smartly enough, left the very next day and the Lord and Lady Stark did not share a chamber together for nearly a month.

"And if that wasn't enough," Jon continued. "You five came from the south. Riverrun is to the north and west of here. And that one next to you, the sigil of House Tully is backwards on his breastplate. No House Guard baring the sigil of their liege Lord would make that mistake."

Jory had to do a double and triple take the man Jon was referring too in order to notice what the boy had. He never knew the boy was so attenuative. Granted, he honestly hadn't paid attention to his liege Lord's bastard son, but that was mostly due to not wanting to draw the ire of Lady Stark. Drawing his sword clear of its sheath, an action that was mimicked by the ten Stark men-at-arms behind him and the few Reed men, Jory position himself so that he was firmly between Jon and the bandits.

"I don't know who you are," Jory said, leveling his sword at the five men. "But we are not simple small folk to be taken advantage of. Leave now while you still have your lives. Persist. And we will send you to the gods here and now."

The leader of the bandits' smile faded into a frown as he observed passively as the men of House Stark and Reed drew their arms. "We were trying to make this as simple as possible." The man sighed. "All you had to do was give us the bastard and go on your way and we would've let you lot live. But now? Now I'm afraid you're all going to have to die. Kill them!"

Dozens of snaps filled the air on the command as sharp pain pierced Jory's side, the impact sending him sprawling from his horse and down to the forest floor. '_Fucking crossbow!'_ Jory cursed, looking down at the half of a crossbow bolt that was sticking out from his side as he painfully got back to his feet. Hearing the pounding of hooves, Jory turned just in time to see one of the false Tully-men charging him with a spear ready to impale him.

Sidestepping just enough to avoid the tip of the spear, Jory reached out with his left hand and grasped hold of the shaft and forced it down into the ground. The rider didn't have time to react as the spear imbedded into the ground and launched him out of his saddle and to the ground. Not giving the man a chance to react, Jory ran forward and cut the man's throat before he could regain his footing.

Turning heel, Jory looked about wildly as he tried to find his young charge. All around him, men of House Stark and Reed fought against the bandits, who'd seemingly tripled in number. '_They were hiding in ambush.'_ Jory thought as he struggled against the pain in his side from the crossbow bolt as he cut down another bandit that'd just killed one of his men. '_How the fuck did they know we'd even be here?'_

A flash of light in corner of his eye was all the warning he had to duck as a blade of a sword passed over his head, slicing deep into the tree next to him instead of his neck. Spinning low, cut the offending bandit from naval to collar bone. "Jon!" Jory cried, sidestepping the now dead bandit and letting his corpse fall to the ground. "Jon! Where ar-"

His body lurched forward as a second bolt pierced his back and entered his lung. Gasping, Jory fought to keep on his feet as he brought his sword around to his would be attack. Standing just a few paces behind him, the leader of the bandits discarded the crossbow he'd just used and advanced on Jory with his blade held high. "Fucking Stark-loving bastard!"

In any other instance Jory would've been able to handle the man with ease. His technique was beyond sloppy and movements predictable. Unfortunately, the bolt in his back and front held him back and the bandit was able put him on the back foot as it soon became all Jory could do to try and hold the man off until he could get help. The help never came however, and soon the inevitable occur as the man was able to slip his sword through Jory's guard and slice through his chest and shoulder.

"How fucking pathetic." The bandit laughed as Jory lost his grip on his sword and fell to the ground. "If you are the best House Stark has to offer, then it's a wonder that they haven't been toppled yet."

Glaring up defiantly at his soon to be executioner, Jory spat a wade of blood at the man, hitting him in the chest. "Fuck you coward…shooting a man in the back before fighting him. I would've killed you in an instant otherwise."

The man merely shrugged. "Coward? Perhaps. But I'm not the poor fucker whose about to die."

Blood spattered against Jory's face as the tip of a sword burst out from the center of the bandit's chest. Both Jory and the soon to be dead man stared down at the tip of the sword completely confused as to how it got there. Looking behind the man, Jory's eyes widened as he saw that it was none other than Jon Snow, that'd saved him. The bandit coughed, blood spilling from his lips as Jon roughly pulled his blade free. "A kid?" The bandit gasped, falling face first onto the ground. "A…fucking…bastard…kid?"

Fighting to keep his eyes open, Jory watched in amazement as Jon pivoted flawlessly and parried away the blade that sought his neck before running his new sword clean through a second bandit, ending the man's life almost instantly. Even as he felt the cool grasp of death grip him as his eyes darkened, Jory smiled as he watched Jon fend off his third attacker. '_Only one and ten…and already killing men twice his age and size.'_ Jory thought as his strength left him, leaving him to sink down onto the forest floor. '_This isn't so bad.'_ He thought as he watched the leaves of the tress sway in the wind as the light of the midday sun shone through. '_This…this was a good death. And Jon…Jon will do great things for House Stark…I know it.'_

* * *

Sweeping low, Jon hamstrung the man he was fighting, bringing the man to his knees before Jon came back around and sliced Deaths Bane clean through the man's neck with no resistance. Panting, Jon turned ready to face whatever threat came next. In his hands, Jon could almost feel a sense of…fulfillment rolling off Deaths Bane as Jon rolled forward, ducking under a wild swing of a mace before coming up and driving his sword into the chest of the mace wielder.

Pulling the blade free, while at the same time trying very hard not to lose the contents of his stomach as Deaths Bane gutted the bandit, Jon reaffirmed his footing and raised his guard. Only to find himself without an opponent. Glancing around him, Jon felt himself quickly losing the battle against his stomach. Dozens of bodies, Stark and Reed men as well as bandits, lay bloodied and scattered across the ground. And he alone was left standing amid the carnage.

Looking down at his hands shaking hands, the realization of just what had transpired hit Jon like a stone as he stared at his blood covered hands. '_I…I just killed four men.'_ He thought shakily. '_Five…five lives lost to my hands in less than two days. Does this…is this what it means to be the Master of Death? To be able to take life so easily? If harry had told me…I…I…'_

"Jon? Jon?! Are you alright lad?"

Jon's body seemingly moved of its own accord as he turned and faced Lord Reed. The Lord the Neck was holding a bloodied sword and had slight cut across his face, but other than that seemed unharmed. "Lord Reed…I…"

Next he knew, Lord Reed had stabbed his sword into the ground and was kneeling before him. "Breathe lad." He said, placing a comforting hand on Jon's shoulder. "Just breathe. You did good."

Staring at Lord Reed, Jon found that his words had left him. He'd trained his entire life to fight. And now that he had fought and killed, he was completely lost. Breaking his eyes away from Lord Reed, Jon looked just over his shoulder and felt his blood run cold. "Jory!"

Pushing his way past Lord Reed, Jon ran desperately over to the fallen form of Jory Cassel and fell to his knees beside him, Deaths Bane falling from his grasp as he did. Jory had been one of the few in Winterfell that'd been kind to him outside of this father and siblings. He was still breathing, if only ever so slightly, and his eyes were glazed over completely. With an unsteady hand, Jon tried to inspect the man's wounds. The bolt that'd taken him in the back had been pushed clean through when he'd fallen, and the bolt that was in his front was buried almost up to the fetching. But worse of all was the deep cut that ran from his chest to his right shoulder that was deep enough to expose the man's bones.

"I did not know Jory Cassel well Jon." Lord Reed's voice called out to Jon through the haze in his mind. "But I do know that if he could've chosen his death, this is how he would've wanted it to be. Protecting House Stark."

"He's not dead." Jon swallowed, watching the shallow and uneven rise and fall of the man's chest.

Vaguely, he was aware of Lord Reed kneeling next to him. "His wounds are grave Jon. He's not long for this world. Our only option is to make his passing as peaceful as possible."

'_No.'_ Jon thought vehemently. '_I won't accept it! I have magic! I can save him! I know I can! Otherwise, what good is this gift I've been given!'_

Laying his hand on Jory's chest, Jon closed his eyes and focused deep on the well of power within him just as Harry had shown him. '_I need to heal him!'_ He thought, feeling the magic within him slowly forming to his will. '_I will heal him!'_

A surge of power echoed through his ears like rushing water, drowning out all sounds other than the power course through him. Lord Reed yelled in surprise, or maybe not, either Jon wasn't focused on the older man as all his attention was on the wounded Jory under his hand. "Come on!" Jon yelled, forcing more and more power into Jory. But no matter how much raw power he put into it, his wounds weren't healing.

"Come on!" Jon yelled again, his entire body shaking as he pushed himself harder and harder. "Come on! I won't let you die! _Unanescere! Vulnera Sanentur!"_

Jon didn't even know where the words came from. But upon shouting them his magic took form raw power into something different. Something far more focused. The crossbow bolts that'd pierced Jory simply disappeared, leaving only wounds behind as evidence of their presence. Then his wounds started to knit together on their own. But before Jon could see the completion of his work, darkness clouded his vision. And the last thing he saw as the ground rapidly rushing up to greet him.

* * *

Staring down at the unconscious form of Lyanna's son, Howland found himself at a complete loss for words. Lightly touching the boy's neck, Howland let out a sigh of relief as he felt that his heart still beat. After checking Jon over twice and to reassure himself that his young charge would live, Howland repositioned him on the ground so he could lay comfortably before moving over and checking on Jory Cassel.

'_By the gods.'_ Howland thought as he looked over the man. Jory's breath had evened out into a steady pace and his heart was still strong. His wounds, while still present, were lessened to the point where they were no longer life threatening. They would scar, there was no doubt of that, but Jory would live to see another day. '_House Reed's isolation has allowed us to retain more knowledge of times past. Including tales of the Master of Death and his abilities. And if Jon can perform miracles like this while still just coming into his powers…I wonder just what he will be able to do in a few years when he comes of age.'_

"By the gods…the boy has truly been blessed by the gods."

Turning his head, Howland spotted one of his own men standing just behind him. Bow drawn and arrow nocked, ready for further confrontations. Repositioning Jory slightly, Howland rose to his feet. "Oren, I afraid that you are mistaken. Jory Cassel's wounds were not quite as life threatening as they seemed. And after just a slight bit of treatment he was able to overcome them. That is what happened, and nothing else."

His man blinked, his eyes darting back and forth between Jon and Jory for a moment. "Of course, my Lord." Oren nodded, catching his meaning quickly. "My eyes were playing tricks on me after the battle."

"Good." Howland nodded, giving his attention fully corpse laden ground surrounding the two of them. "Survivors?"

"Two Stark men." Oren reported. "They're riding down the last of the bandits that fled once the battle turned in our favor. One other Stark guards man is wounded and unconscious but should live. And Holar still breathes even but I fear his leg will need to be taken by a Maester before long."

Walking over to the bandit leader, Howland cut the strings on the man's coin purse before repeating the process with all the bandits. "Take these and ride hard for the Crossroads." Howland ordered, handing all the coin purses over to Oren. "Purchase a cart large enough to transport our cargo and wound and return as soon fast as the horses will take you. The moment your back we press hard for the Northern lands."

"As you say my Lord." Oren nodded as he slung, he took the offer coin purses while slinging his bow back over his shoulders before easily climbing up into a saddle and racing off towards the Crossroads Inn.

Once his man was out of sight, Howland let go of the breath he wasn't even aware he was holding. '_That was too close.'_ He thought, making his way back towards Jon and kneeling.

While he couldn't be certain about just what had transpired between Jon and the Master of Death, seeing as how Jon refused to speak of it, he had a pretty good idea. The night before Jon emerged from the underground tunnel Howland could feel something almost awaken within him. And that night, as he slept beneath the weirwoods, his green-dreams were far more vivid than he could ever remember. And the dream told him all that he needed to know. '_You may not like your future Jon…Aegon, Master of Death. But in the end the realm will need you to sit on the Iron Throne. The alternatives if you don't will only lead us all to ruin.'_


	7. Chapter 7

**So…yeah that all happened. I don't know if I really need to go into the last two episodes, honestly, I was kind of done with the show after episode 5 as I could pretty much predict just what was going to happen. But I do feel the need to rant a little bit here so…here we go.**

**I'm actually fine with the ending of the show, but what I'm not okay with is how fast they got to the ending. Season 7 and 8 should've both been a full ten episodes and then even a season 9 should've been produced. Honestly, that would've been the only way they could've made the transitions they wanted in a reasonable manner. But by taking so many short cuts they really did everything a great disservice.**

**Daenerys story arc was so rushed and her descent so abrupt that it was honestly painful to watch. Her fall wasn't really flushed out or developed, it was just shock value for the sake of shock value. Jon's character was just destroyed as the writers made him completely pussy-whipped and seemed to only be able to give him the line 'She is my/our queen' for the entire season. Sansa's character was flat as a board, her actions in trying to protect her family were never expanded upon or explained and it made her look like she was a villain rather than someone trying to protect her family from a potential threat. Grey Worm…this was actually understandable. After losing Missiendai he reverted back to the way he was, a true Unsullied with no real free will. Arya felt like the only character they actually gave a crap about. And Bran…who the fuck thought it was a cool idea to make him King? Jamie's character completely reverted, twelve steps forward and then a quick eleven back. The White Walkers were built up to be this incredibly supernatural threat, and then they were killed off in one episode.**

**Then there were the general battle plans and strategy of the season. Completely pathetic. The Battle for Winterfell was a complete mess tactically speaking. The Golden Company was worthless. And honestly, the best advice Dany got all season was from Missendai when she advised running a propaganda campaign after the Battle for Winterfell, which Dany promptly dismissed despite having the upper hand as Dorne and the Iron Isles had returned to her control. **

**Despite the problems I had with the season though, there were a few gems. Sandor and Arya's last conversation was gold. Tyrion and Jon's talk in the cell before Jon killed Dany was actually pretty deep when you think about it. Clegane bowl, enough said. Battle for Winterfell was visually appealing, what one could actually see of it that is.**

**So, this season should be taken as a lesson, I guess. This is what happens when you mistake foreshadowing for proper character development and replace good storytelling for fan service. I remember when the show was still in seasons 2-5 and a lot of people where angry cause there were some episodes where little happened. Well now you see why. Those filler episodes were necessary to properly develop the characters into those we came to know and love. Seasons 7 and 8 should've been spread out into three whole seasons, not two half seasons. The show just felt so incredibly rushed and quite a few good plot lines were completely ignored. In fact, now that I've gone through all of this…I think I might just have to write up my own version of season 8 (and Dany won't end up going mad in my version).**

**Okay, enough of my ranting. Onto the chapter. Now I am using character names from another medium (it'll be obvious which fairly quickly). I'm not adding another story to this crossover, just using the character names.**

**Disclaimer, ASOFAI, GOT and HP do not belong to me. This chapter is slightly shorter cause, honestly, the ending of the show sapped a bit out of me.**

**Chapter 7**

Deep within the Jade Sea on the island of Leng, the God-Empress Hisana stood upon her balcony overlooking the overgrown stone ruins that littered her homes landscape. As she watched an ape still in its infancy daftly clambered up the ruins while it's mother, a beast three times as tall as any man, watched her child climb. '_If only the life we live could be so simple.'_ Hisana thought sadly as she turned her back on the scene to make her way back into her palace. But life was not so simple. Her mother, the previous God-Empress of Leng, had passed into the realm of the gods not a month pass. Which then passed the mantle of leadership onto Hisana. And while she had been groomed for his moment her entire life, the reality of becoming the God-Empress daunting.

Walking back into her chambers, Hisana bypassed her attendant, who bowed lowly to her as she passed. "God-Empress, Lord Byakuya has arrived and has been shown to his chambers."

Hearing her loves name brought the slightest of grins to her face, but at the same time it was a painful reminder of her 'duties' to her people. Byakuya was the man who she knew she would one day marry. And she loved him with all her heart. However, Byakuya was a Lengii, and per the customs of her land he would be only one of her two husbands. The second would be of YiTish decsent. The only issue with that was, she had no idea just who that man would be as none had managed to lay a claim on her heart as Byakuya had.

Delicately sitting at on her high seat, Hisana stared off to the side almost blankly as her mind wandered. Holding up her hand, she narrowed her eyes at the palm of her hand. A small swirling of air circulated in her hand for a moment before dissipating completely, leaving her drained. "Has my sister arrived yet?"

"Yes, God-Empress." Her attendant bowed. "She is being seen to and properly prepared for your meeting."

Hisana nearly gave out an un-ceremonial snort. She loved her half-sister, she truly did. But sometimes she felt as if she took things a touch to seriously at times. "There is no need for her to go through such rites." Hisana waved dismissively. "She is my sister. Bring her to me at once."

"At once, God-Empress." Her attendant exclaimed, bowing lowly before scampering out of her room and shutting the door on his way out.

Leaning back against the high backing of her seat, Hisana once again looked down at the palm of her hand. As all God-Empresses in the past since the Great Khiara, Hisana had the ability to call upon a small amount of magic when the need called for it. But the magic was always taxing. And with each new God-Empress it became more so. But for some reason not five days past, her magic was starting to come to her with much more ease than before. It took her a few days to discern the reason why, and when she finally had she nearly fainted.

After over two millennia of silence, a new Master of Death had been appointed. And the magic of the land had received a boon as his power breathed new life into the dying flames of magic. And while his presence could be considered a good thing, it was also worrying. The previous Master of Death had added Leng greatly when he and his Angels sided with the Khiara the Great. The people of Leng owed the Master of Death a great dept. One that had been failed to be repaid. She only prayed that they would be able to repay their debt to this new of Master of Death, provided he was worthy of their aid of course.

The doors to her chambers opened with only the slightest of noise, allowing her sister entrance. "God-Empress." Her sister intoned, immediately dropping down to one knee and bowing her head.

Shaking her head, Hisana rose from her seat and approached her sister. "Rise Rukia. There is no need for you of all people to show deference to me."

Her sister hesitated for a long moment before slowly rising to her feet and raising her head. Where Hisana took after her Lengii father in terms of stature and look, her half-sister Rukia took after their mother in terms of looks and her YiTish father in terms of stature. Which was why when Hisana took her sister into her arms, Rukia's head barely reached her chest. "I've missed you sister. Your time out in the wilderness has been trying for me."

Returning the embrace, Rukia swiftly stepped back, her face adopting a cool mask of indifference that she'd developed so well over her years dealing with their mother's court. "I apologize for any worry I have caused you sister. It was not my intent. And there was no need to worry, I was never in harm's way."

At this, Hisana couldn't help but grin. "No, I suppose not. Not considering just who followed you out into the lands like a lost cub." That got a reaction out of her sister, whose cheeks reddened before she could prevent it. "But needling you and your relation to _that_ man is not why I called you here sister. No, I have called you here because I have task. One of great importance. One that I feel I can only entrusted to yourself and no other."

Rukia's back went even straighter, if that were possible. "My hands, your will God-Empress."

Pacing back the length of her chamber, Hisana took her time to gather her words before speaking. "The Master of Death has passed from this life into the next." She said abruptly, making her sister start. "But before his passing, I sense that he passed his mantle onto another. The passing of which has had an…unusually effect. The dying embers of magic within this world have almost seemed to have been fanned. As if this new Master of Death has breathed new life into it."

Her sister blinked. "How is such a thing possible God-Empress?"

"I do not know." Hisana answered honestly. "But regardless of how it has occurred, the fact remains that it has. And now we must take steps. I am tasking you Rukia to find this new Master of Death and judge his or her worth. Should you find them worthy, then Leng will honor the debt we owe to the former. Should you find them wanting, then we shall cleanse our hands of them."

Rukia's face remained passive, but Hisana could see the excitement behind her sister's façade. She'd always wanted to travel beyond the lands of Leng. And now she was being given the perfect opportunity to do so. "It will be done God-Empress." Rukia bowed. "Where should I begin my search."

"That I do not know." Hisana answered honestly. "I have spent many hours since I felt the passing trying to divine this new Master of Death's location. And all that I have been able to see is that they are to the west and in land of snow. Take that as you will sister and let your instincts guide you. When you find him approach him with caution. While the previous Master of Death was known to us, this new one is an unknown. When you find them, take their measure and report back to me as quickly as you can do so. Should you speak highly of them, then we will proceed to the next step."

"The next step?" Rukia questioned.

"Yes." Hisana nodded before using her still blossoming magical powers to scan the room to make sure there were no unwanted ears present. "What I tell you know I tell you in confidence. When the Master of Death aided the land of Leng, he also gave the Great Khiara a gift. A never-ending tome that would never fade from this world. Each God-Empress since Khiara has used this tome to document their life's triumphs and failures so that the next God-Empress might learn from them."

Rukia's black-purple eyes widened. "That is quite the gift."

"Indeed." Hisana nodded. "But there is more. The first entry was penned by Khiara herself. Within the passage she speaks at length of the Master of Death. Particularly his Angels. It too her some time and more guile than she cared to admit, but she was able to discern some information about them. Namely, that the Master of Death's Angels were a necessity to him. And that they shared in his power, life-force and knowledge. And now, now there is a new Master of Death."

Rukia proved herself as her mind quickly followed the path Hisana had laid before her. "Which means that he might be absent his own 'Angels'."

"Yes." Hisana nodded. "I am not asking you to join the Master of Death, not unless they would be willing to take your heart as well. But if the Master of Death has no Angels now, then it is imperative for Leng that we do our utmost to place one of our people by their side."

"I understand God-Empress." Rukia said, once again dropping to one knee and bowing her head. "I shall not fail you."

"I know you won't Rukia. That is why I asked this of you." Smiling, Hisana turned her attention away from her kneeling sister and gazed out at the sprawling jungle once again. "Your ship leaves first thing in the morning. I suggest you take what time you have to prepare yourself."

"Yes, God-Empress." Rukia bowed even lower, her face almost touching the ground. "Your will, my hands."

Rukia was nearly to the door when Hisana called out to her sister again. "Oh, and Rukia. Do make sure to behave yourself with Ichigo on your voyage. It wouldn't do for the God-Empress to become an aunt before she becomes a mother."

* * *

Within the city of Quarth deep within the House of the Undying, Pyat Pree stood before the pinnacle of the order of warlocks as the ancient Undying Ones spoke. "Reborn he has been."

"Unearthed he has been."

"Passed and returned he has."

"The Ancient power, stolen from our grasp once more it has."

"The New, untrained. Unknown. Young. Inexperienced."

"Brought here to learn."

"Brought here to grow."

"Brought here to join."

"The Herald of Death, brought to us they must."

"The Bonded. Drained they will be."

"Go. The Herold and the Bonded you will bring. Or be denied a seat at our table forever more you shall."

Bowing lowly to the pinnacle of the House of the Undying, Pyat Pree quickly rose to his feet and made his way from the central chamber of the House of the Undying and out in to the unrelenting sun of Quarth. Staring up at the sun, Pyat thought on the impossible task that'd been set before him by the Undying Ones. '_The magic of the realm has been stirred. Like a river whose damn was not just broken but all but removed from existence. Only one being could cause such a chaotic vortex. The Herald of Death. And now, the Undying Ones want him to sit at their table.'_

Setting off into the city proper, Pyat disregarded the masses that parted from his path as he walked. '_The Herold made his feelings on our order quite clear when he turned the House of Undying into a pile of ruins and cursed it to stay that way. But if the Undying Ones are right, and they always are, then the mantle has been passed. The only question that remains now, is how to find this new Herald. And a how to bring him to the House of the Undying, where they belong?' _

* * *

In the southern shadow lands within the city of Asshai, Melisandre stood vigil within the Temple of R'hllor before the daily fire that burned in the center of the Temple as she desperately sought solace in the flames as she prayed for guidance from the One True God. Not a week past something had shifted the balance of power. What that event was, she did not know. And neither did any of her brothers and sisters. Multiple offerings were given unto the Lord of Light beseeching his wisdom. But the True God remained silent no matter what they offered. Not even the captured Lord and Lady from YiTi that were offered to the flames this evening brought the Lord's blessings.

"Bring forth another offering." Melisandre intoned to her bothers and sisters while she kept her sight firmly on the flames. "We must beseech our Lord fo-"

The words froze in her throat as her vision pulsed. When it cleared, she was no longer standing within the warmth and darkness of Asshai. She was standing in the midst of a frozen waste land. Whirling winds of snow and cold tore through her being, freezing her down to her very soul. Turning on her heel, her eyes widened at what she saw. Death. Death with blue eyes standing tall before her. Only it wasn't looking at her. It was looking past her. Turning again, she saw what had Death's attention. Standing opposite of Death was a being of pure power. Beside the being were four others whose very appearance alluded her sight.

Her sight pulsed again, and she was no long in field ice and cold. Now she was shrouded in darkness with only the being of power once more. The being reached for her and she reached out her hand in return. '_R'hollor…have you truly blessed me so?'_

But it was not to be as the being of power she mistook for R'hollor reached not for her, but for another. Smaller yet vibrant being. The being of power flickered as it's light dimmed before extinguishing completely. But as it's light dimmed the smaller being's presence grew to the point where it was blinding as the first beings.

Her sight pulsed again, and she found herself once again on a field. The smaller being that was in her previous vision was there once more. Only now four other beings followed it. And as it walked animals of various origins knelt in homage to the being as it passed them by. As she took a step to follow the being, it stopped mid-step. Her eyes widened as the being pulled a sword from its side. A sword that sprung with glowing power outshining all. She felt warmth surging through her as she stared at the being and the sword it held aloft.

"Sister! What have you seen?"

Shaking her head, Melisandre looked about wildly. She was back. Back in the Temple of the One True God. Focusing her attention on the mask covered acylate who stood before her, Melisandre couldn't help but smile. "The Lord of Light has blessed us." She said as all of her brothers and sisters gathered around her. "Azor Ahai has been reborn at long last!"

* * *

Within the Citadel of Oldtown, Archmaester Marwyn stood within his study staring intently at the one green and three black glass candles that were laid out before him. The twisted glass constructs had been within the walls of the Citadel for a thousand years, brought from Valayria itself during the heights of its power. For centuries, acolytes that yearned to earn their links would sequester themselves before the lit candles in order to study them, to reinforce the idea that no matter how much one thought they knew, there was always more that one didn't know.

But in the wake of the Doom, the candles extinguished themselves. And no Maester since that time, no matter what was tried, the candles refused to glow. Until now that was.

Not five days past the candles started to glow softly for seemingly no other reason than they wanted to do so. The acolyte that'd been studying the candles that day had almost died from the shock of having the glow resume on his watch. But luckily the man had at least kept his wits about him enough to have another acolyte run and get Marwyn before one of the other Archmaesters could do something…brash and idiotic.

However, after five days and four nights of study, he was still no closer to deciphering just why the candles had suddenly decided to come back to life than he was at the onset. "Alleras. Go and retrieve my personal copy of _The Ancient Magics of Valyria _and _Magical Myths and Legends of Westeros_ from my personal study. Now."

Off to the side, his personal aid Alleras nodded before quickly scurrying out of the room and towards his private study. Out of the corner of his eye, Marwyn couldn't help but notice the slight twitch in Alleras's walk, even with the acolyte wearing the thick grey robes of the Maesters. '_Alleras has been able to fool many here within the Citadel. Seven hells, even managed to fool me for a time. But there is no denying the way she walks. Even with those heavy robes. She's just lucky that she's apprenticing herself with me and not one of the other more closed minded Archmaesters. Which is to say…all the rest of the fools. But I am not one to judge. If she wants to learn, then she can learn. It doesn't, or at least shouldn't, matter that she doesn't have a cock swinging between her legs.'_

Putting the gender of his apprentice to the back of his mind, Marwyn knelt and brought his face to within a breath of the dimly glowing glass candles. '_There is so much that we still don't know. So much that has been lost. Both intentionally and not. I would give every possession I own for just a glimmer of that lost knowledge. But that is neither here nor there. I need to send out ravens. I need information…even if it means I need to consort with _that_ man again. I need to know what is going on out in Westeros. Something triggered the activation of these candles. Something that stirred the fires of magic once more. And I must find out what it was.'_

* * *

Standing in the balcony overlooking the yard below, Eddard Stark stood side by side with his Lady Wife as the two watched over their children and their Greyjoy ward below. Robb, Theon, Sansa and Arya were standing in line with one another, bows raised, and arrows drawn as the three focused at the straw targets twenty paces from them. "Hold your arm firm Lady Sansa and sight along the arrow." Ser Rodrik commanded as he walked down the line. "Hold the arrow to your chin. Keep your grip lose my Lady. Sight along the arrow. Release."

Four bows snapped as four arrows flew across the yard. Theon's arrow struck true in the center of the target with Robb's finding purchase less than an inch off the mark while Arya's arrow managed to pierce the inner target as well. Sansa's arrow however flew over the target completely before breaking against the stone walls of Winterfell. "Ha!" Arya cried in triumph as she turned to her sister. "Guess your not perfect little Sansa out here are you?"

Frowning at his youngest daughter and at the way her words affected Sansa, Ned leaned forward with his hands on the railing. "Your sister is not you Arya." Ned said lowly, his voice traveling clearly throughout the yard, making all his children turn to stare up at him, save for Sansa who still had her head down. "And you are not her. Both of you have your strengths and faults. You and your sister are pack. And as I have put a stop to ill words between you two during your lessons with the Septa, so too shall there be no ill words spoken here. The pack survives when the lone wolf dies. Go again."

Turning back around, his children notched another arrow and took their places. But this time when Sansa drew her arrow, Arya stopped her. Ned couldn't hear the words that passed between the two, but he did see Sansa adjust her grip on her bow and her hold on the arrow. This time when Sansa let loose the arrow struck true and hit the outermost ring of the target.

Unable and unwilling to stop the smile from spreading across his face, Ned pushed himself off the railing and offered his arm to his wife, who took it with only the slightest bit of hesitation. "You still don't agree." He said as the two turned their back on the yard.

Cat stiffened beside him as they walked. "You have made your decision quite clear on the matter Ned. When do my objections matter?"

Stopping in his tracks, Ned turned and faced his wife. "They do matter Cat."

Cat arched a brow at that. "Except now. And except with the ba – boy." She muttered mutely before pushing her way past him and into the keep proper.

Ned wanted to punch something out of sheer frustration as he watched his wife march steadily away from him. '_No matter what I do, no matter how much I cave to her demands, it never seems to be enough.'_ Letting out a low breath, Ned turned leaned against the railing facing south. '_For over one and ten years Cat has been the Lady Stark. Lady of the North. Yet in all that time she has yet to accept who the Northerners are as a people. The Sept and Septa's presence in Winterfell, the home of the Old Gods of the North. I nearly caused a minor uprising with those declarations. I allow my daughters to be raised in the manner of the South…something that has angered my bannermen. Yet it pleased Cat. Yet now when I try and teach them the ways of the North as well, she grows cold. Could it be because she was never meant for me? Would Brandon have been able to amend her to the ways of the North? And what of when it comes time for the girls and our sons to be betrothed? Already many are seeking Robb's and Sansa's hands. Will I have to cave again to please my wife and bring a measure of peace to our life?'_

Hearing a commotion coming from the southern gate, Ned quickly pulled himself together and pushed himself off the railing. '_Now is not the time.'_ He thought to himself fiercely. '_They are my children, children of the North as well as the South. They must be of both. She will see, in time.'_

Making his way into the yard, Ned froze mid-step as he laid eyes on what'd caused the commotion in the first place. It wasn't the small cart, but rather the two who were ridding atop it and the three riders alongside it. '_Jory and Howland.'_ Ned blinked, staring at the two men. '_And only three others but…Jon?'_

Fear unlike any he'd known since before Robert's Rebellion surged within him as he all but ran to small gather. "Howland." He called out, making everyone in the yard turn towards him and quickly move aside lest they get trampled. "Jory…where is-"

"He's fine, my Lord." Howland said quickly as he hopped down from the cart. "He's…in the back of the cart."

Ned barely registered anyone as he made his way around the cart and to the opened back end. As he gazed upon the still form of Jon, his breath caught in his chest and his heart skipped a beat. Jon had always been a lithe boy. But now, now the boy he'd raised looked completely emancipated. Hoping up onto the cart, he quickly placed his fingers onto the side of Jon's neck, and let out the breath he didn't even realize he was holding when he felt the strong beat of Jon's heart beneath his fingers.

"How long has he been unconscious?"

His attention was so focused on the boy who was his son in all but name, that he barely heard Howland's response to his question. "Since we left the Isle of the Faces less than a fortnight ago."

'_A fortnight asleep. Without food or drink. Men have died from less.'_ Scooping his son up in his arms, Ned carefully jumped down from the cart and made a brisk pace towards the inner keep. "Inform Maester Luwin immediately that his services are needed. And Lady Maegyr as well." Ned ordered to no one in particular as he focused on the slight unmoving form in his arms.

"Father…is that…Jon?"

Ned nearly cursed aloud as he spied his children all standing before the entrance to the Keep. Robb was staring at him slack jawed. Sansa was paler than he'd ever seen her. And Arya and Bran were both staring at him in open confusion. "Jon!" Arya cried as she finally spotted the unmoving Jon in his arms. She made to run towards them, but Robb's quick hands held onto her shoulders, preventing her from doing so.

"Robb. Take your sisters and brothers to their rooms and stay there until I call for you." Ned demanded as his House Guards scrambled to open the doors to the Keep.

"Father…I-"

"Now Robb!" Ned bit out harshly, startling his eldest who was quick enough to recognize the tone and hastily ushered the other children away from Ned.

Storming through the Keep with his guards struggling to keep pace, Ned made his way into the family wing and towards Jon room. One of his guards just barely managed to get the door open for him, which prevented Ned from having to kick the offending object down, as he marched into Jon's sparsely decorated room and laid his adoptive son down on the bed.

Not long after Jon was set down, Ned could hear the rustle of chains and the harsh uneven breathing of Maester Luwin announcing the aged Maesters arrival. "Apologies Lord Stark." Maseter Luwin wheezed. "I came as fast as I-"

"You are forgiven Maester." Ned interrupted the aged man, stepping back to make way so he could get to Jon. "He's been unconscious for a fortnight according to Lord Reed."

Without any further promoting, Maseter Luwin quickly crossed the room with Lady Maegyr right beside him. Chains rattling as he knelt, the aged Maester began examining Jon by quickly and carefully undoing the laces of his shirt. "By the gods old and new!" Luwin exclaimed, startling Ned even more so than he already was.

"What is it Maes-" But the words died in his throat as he saw just what had brought the Maester up short. Littered across Jon's torso were a series of intricate black patterns that almost seemed to be a part of his flesh. "What are those?"

"Tattoos, my Lord." Lady Maegyr answered quickly, her slight fingers gently tracing the patterns made on Jon's flesh. "When we still lived in Volantis I remember seeing a few sailors with these and asked my father about them. He said that they were markings that were permanently inked into the flesh. It's a very long and, from what I understand, an uncomfortable bordering on painful process. For Jon to have so many in such a short amount of time. It's…unheard of."

Biting back the bile that rose in his throat at the thought of someone willing torturing Jon, Ned turned back to Luwin. "Continue Maester."

"A few bruises on his arms chest." The Maester noted as he gently probed Jon's skin chest and arms with his fingers, taking care to avoid the black markings. "No broken ribs. No other injuries to his insides." Moving his hands to Jon's head, Luwin carefully turned the boy's head back and forth as he brush his hair aside. "No visible marks on his head to indicate any type of injury. Did Lord Reed say how young Jon came to be in such a state?"

"I don't know." Ned answered honestly, feeling a fool for not gathering such information from Jory or Lord Reed before he rushed Jon away. "But I intend to find out. Have Lord Reed and Jory brought to my solar immediately. Maester Luwin, continue doing what you can for Jon until I return."

"Yes my Lord." Maester Luwin nodded to him before turning his attention back to Jon while simultaneously asking for several healing items from Lady Maegyr.

Turning his back on the scene, Ned hastily made his way out of the room and towards his solar. While on the outside he fought to remain his calm, on the inside he was anything but. '_Jon nearly died.'_ Ned' thoughts tortured him as he marched with heavy steps through the Keep. '_I promised to keep him safe from everyone. I forsake my honor to keep that promise. I gave Cat room to doubt to keep that promise. And now…now I sent him away and he almost dies because of it. Damn it all to the hells Howland…you had better have a good reason for allowing me to send her son away from my sight at such a young age!'_

So lost was he in his thoughts, that Ned didn't even realized he'd arrived at his solar until he was already behind his desk and sinking into his Lord's chair. Shaking his head from the past, Ned stared across the room at the other two occupants. Jory looked shaken and withdrawn. But Howland…Howland looked almost content. A state which only aggravated the Warden of the North more so.

"Jory, Lord Reed." Ned began, staring down the two. "A moon's turn ago you left Winterfell with my son and a score of our best men, both of the Neck and Winterfell. Now you return with less than half your company and my son unconscious and unresponsive. I ask you both now this only once. What the hell happened?"

The two men looked at one another as if they were not sure just where to begin. Finally, Jory broke the silence with a single word that sent Ned's back straight. "Betrayal, my Lord."

Ned's blood rushed as the wolf he fought his entire life threatened to emerge and take hold of him. '_No.'_ He yelled, fighting against the wolf within him. '_The wolf's blood took Lyanna and Brandon. I won't let it take me.'_ "Explain."

"Betrayal might not be the best word to describe it, Lord Stark." Howland explained, shooting a glance towards Jory. "But it was made to look as such."

"Continue." Ned said, motioning with his hand for Howland and Jory to proceed.

"Our trip south was without incident my Lord." Jory quickly said. "A fortnight of ridding and we arrived at the Isle of Faces. Once we arrived on the shore or the lake…there was a boat waiting for young Jon and Lord Reed."

Ned felt his brow raise as he turned to Howland, waiting for his old friend to continue the tale. "The Isle of Faces is old Ned, and a bastion of the Old Gods and others." Howland replied emotionlessly. "Jon and I went to the Isle aye. But Jon's actions on the Isle were for him and him alone to undergo. I merely waited beneath the weirwoods until he'd completed his task."

Ned waited for Howland to elaborate more, but he was left disappointed as Howland didn't seem to wish to continue. At least not now. "And did he complete this task he'd been set upon?"

"He did." Howland confirmed, making a swell of fear and anxiety swell within Ned's gut.

"I see." He said simply, trying and failing to fight the swelling within him. "What happened when you left the Isle then?"

Jory picked up the tale from there. "They spent two nights on the Isle my lord. And when they came back…young Jon has always been a somber lad my lord. But his eyes…whatever happened to him on the Isle aged him my lord. And he didn't come back with just Lord Reed. He came back with this as well."

Reaching behind him, Jory produced a longsword still in its sheath. Once the blade was set down before him, Ned reached out and examined the hilt. His blood thundering in his ears as he did so. '_The pummel…it could easily be mistaken for a wolf…but there is no denying the dragon hidden within to the trained eye.'_ Exposing a few inches of steel, Ned felt his stomach plummet at the bone-white blade that met his eye almost tauntingly. '_Milky-white…the only known blade of such a color is Dawn. I know it well as I've felt it's bite. As has Howland. But this…this sword is no Dawn.'_

"Where did he find this blade?" Ned asked as he slammed the blade back home.

"It was given to him on the Isle of Faces." Howland answered simply. "But back to where Jory left off. After we returned to shore we were quickly approached by riders. Riders baring the colors of House Tully."

Ned's eyes widened as his mind quickly placed the implication of betrayal. '_No. Hoster may despise Jon for his existence…but he wouldn't be stupid enough to do something like harming the boy. Would he?'_

"To ease your troubled mind Ned, I want to ensure you that they were not men of House Tully, merely those who sought to disguise themselves as such." Howland continued quickly almost as if he could read Ned's thoughts. "It was Jon who first pointed out the discrepancies. Mostly based on the fact that Hoster Tully personally made it quite clear to the boy that he would never be welcome in his presence. When Jon called the men on their act, the showed their true colors and ambushed us."

"You should be proud of your son, Lord Stark." Jory added. "He fought and brought down men over twice his size and age without hesitation. And he was winning. I – I don't know what happened to make him fall unconscious mi'lord. I – I took a bolt to the front and back and sword to the shoulder and Jon was there, protecting me from the blow that would've permanently ended me. I remember my eyes going dark and hearing the call of the gods. But then the next thing I knew I was in a cart with young Jon lying beside me and we were just entering the Neck."

Pride, sadness and fear battled within Ned. Yes, he was proud of Jon for standing and fighting when many would run. But he was also sad that his son in all but name had to fight and kill at such a young age. And if, when, word got out about Jon's skill with a sword people would start asking questions. Questions that he really didn't want to supply the answers too. Catching Howland's eyes, Ned frowned slightly as he noticed the slight twitch that his old friend was giving him. It was a silent signal the two had agreed upon back during the Rebellion when the men under Lord Reed would run scouting missions. It was motion that told Ned that the next words Howland had for him were for his ears alone.

Rising to his feet, he gave Jory his full attention. "Thank you, Jory, for your protection of my son and for your willingness to pay the ultimate price to fulfill your vows. Your actions will not be forgotten. Take what time you need to recover and think of any boon you wish of me and I shall grant it."

Jory's brow raised in surprised. "I – thank you my Lord." Jory quickly stammered. "Your thanks are all I need though, my Lord. I live only to serve House Stark."

"Regardless, few would pay the price you nearly did so readily and be so willing to do so again." Ned countered. "Rest. Think on the boon and return to me in the morning. You are dismissed."

"Yes, my Lord." Jory bowed lowly before quickly and quietly leaving the room.

Now alone with his old friend, Ned allowed his Lord's mask to fall as he fell heavily into his chair and rubbed at his eyes tiredly. "Tell me honestly Howland. Does he know?"

Howland did not need clarification on his question. "He does."

Ned felt red hot anger course through him. "Damn it Howland!" He hissed. "You swore to me, and her, that you would never tell him un-"

"And I kept my word Ned." Howland shot back with just as much malice as Ned. "I told Jon nothing he did not already know. I warned you some time ago that he needed to know. And now it is too late and someone has already told him before you could."

This did nothing for Ned's nerves. To his knowledge, there were only two living souls left in the world that knew Jon's true parentage. And they were both in here at this moment. IF there was a third, why not a fourth or a fifth? And the more people that, the less of secrete it became. "Who?" Ned asked, his fear bubbling steadily under his Lords face. "Who told him?"

Howland gave him a level look at the question. "Forgive me for saying this my Lord, but your Andal upbringing must have stunted your mind if you haven't already put the pieces together. Who else would be able to meet with Jon for years in the godswood unnoticed to all but him despite you having guards and servants constantly shadowing Jon? Who has a known history for reaching through the weirwoods to speak with those deemed worthy of hearing his words?"

A dreadful suspicion swelled within Ned, a suspicion that had always been at the back of his mind but one that he always refused to acknowledge. "Who else would be able to slip in an out of Winterfell without a trace my friend?" Howland pressed on, either ignoring or completely oblivious to the inner turmoil brewing within Ned. "Who else would call the Isle of Faces his home?"

Turning his head to stare into the low burning flames within his hearth, Ned's logical mind fought relentlessly against what was being presented to him. "He's a myth. A legend. Nothing more."

"He's much more than just a myth or a legend Ned. Those of House Stark should know that more than anyone else in the world. After all, he did help in the foundations of your house."

The pieces all fit. Ned knew that Jon had been sneaking into the godswood at least once or twice a week for years. For a time, he thought that his nephew was merely seeking solace within the old gods. But as time passed, Ned started to notice little differences in Jon. It was much, he could tell that despite being the same age as Robb and even though his lessons had been intentionally sabotaged for a time, his nephew was far smarter, faster and more logical than Robb. A fact that his nephew went through great lengths to hide. But Ned sew it none the less.

"If…if it was _him._ Then why Jon?"

"I don't know." Howland answered honestly. "After Jon and I arrived on the Isle of Faces, Jon went on his own. For two days I waited beneath the weirwoods for Jon's return. And when he finally did the young boy was…different."

"Different how?" Ned asked anxiously.

Howland seemed to struggle to find the words. "Jon has always been a somber lad. But he was still a lad. But when he came out of that cave with two chests, neither of which we can open despite a fortnight of trying, and that sword and the ring on his finger and the cloak on his back, he almost seems older, far older, than what he actually is. I can only speculate on what might have transpired down in that cave between them."

Howland's words did little to settle Ned's troubled mind and he was starting to grow desperate. "Then speculate my friend."

Taking the seat across from him, Howland stared off into the distance as he seemed to carefully collect his words before answering Ned's desperate inquiry. "That man, if it is truly him, is old. Far older than any man has the right to be. If it is truly him, would it not be out of the realm of possibilities for him to seek someone to carry on his task, whatever it might be? And considering Jon's bloodlines, a son of the First Men and a Child of Old Valyria, it could make him a potential candidate for such a position."

Ned's fears only increased ten-fold at the possibility presented before him. Jon had never shown any indication that of the madness that plagued his father's family for generations. Perhaps it was the blood of the wolves that was able to cool the blood of the dragon. Or perhaps it was merely because he was still far too young. But if Howland's speculation had even the slightest chance of being true, and Jon had been gifted by the Master of Death. Then Ned would have to keep an even closer eye on his nephew than ever before.

* * *

Standing in the midst of the darkness that surrounded him, Jon turned his head back and forth as he tried to find something, anything, that might give even the slightest clue as to where he was. '_And more importantly.'_ He thought desperately, trying to see through the darkness that surrounded him. '_How the fuck do I get out of here? Wherever in the hells here even is.'_

Time held no meaning in this place. He could've been here for hours or days he didn't know. And no matter where Jon turned or went, he never seemed to move from his spot. "By the fucking old gods and the new!" Jon shouted into the darkness surrounding him. "What the hell is going on!"

"What's going on Jon, is that you've only been the Master of Death for a few days and you managed to nearly surpass me on the 'that was fucking stupid' scale."

Spinning on his heel, Jon was blinded as a white light washed over him, pushing the darkness aside. Blinking his eyes as he tried to pierce the sudden light, Jon could barely make out the outline of a figure walking towards him. "Who are you?" He shouted, still squinting against the light that was threatening to blind him.

Without warning the light receded, and Jon suddenly found himself standing in the midest of Harry's home on the Isle of Faces. Everything was just as he remembered. The table and chair where he and Harry held their last conversation. The seemingly endless rows of books lining the walls. Even the four alters in the room were the same. "How?" Jon breathed, staring around the room. "How am I back here?"

"You're not, at least not technically."

Gasping, Harry turned heel and gaped at the man standing just behind him. "Harry?" Jon gasped.

His mentor had taken on the appearance of the middle-aged man he'd met in Winterfell instead of the wizened old man Jon had met here in this very room. "The one and the only kid." Harry smirked as he walked up to him. "Now Jon, how are you feeling?"

Jon blinked at the question. '_How am I feeling?'_ "Um…okay I guess. Just extremely confuse-"

The next he knew, Jon was flying through the air and onto his back as his forehead exploded in pain. Groaning and rolling onto his side, Jon held his head in his hands as he tried to process what just happened. "You…did you just punch me?"

"Yes." Harry responded in an almost irritating way.

Still holding his head in his hands, Jon slowly got to his feet while glaring at his mentor through his fingers. "Why?"

Harry's brow rose. "Because you knowingly did something stupid. So stupid that I'm almost proud. If it wasn't for the fact that you nearly killed yourself in the process. Now I know how Angels would feel whenever I did something like this."

Shaking the fog away from his head, Jon met his mentor's gaze with one of his own. "What happened? All you keep saying is that I did something stupid. I remember fighting the bandits and then…Jory. I – I tried to heal him but-"

"And you succeeded." Harry cut in, bringing Jon up short. "Jory Cassel still lives thanks to what you did. But therein lies the problem."

"What problem?" Jon demanded as he felt elation rush through him. '_I did it! I saved Jory!'_ "Jory is alive! That's all that matters!"

"The problem," Harry growled, slapping Jon upside the head before he could move to prevent it. "Is that you nearly killed yourself doing so Jon."

Jon immediately deflated. "I – I almost…died? But…how? You showed me how to heal many times! I could do it with my eyes closed!"

"Yes." Harry nodded with a sigh. "This is partly my fault. I trained you for years in my mindscape but apparently, I didn't home in on one specific aspect of what that training meant. You have years of magical theory in your head now. But magic is just like a muscle Jon. It doesn't matter how much you think you might know. Without practical experience…it would be like a five-year-old boy trying to wield Ice and Wolfs Blood at the same time. You're more likely to harm yourself than anything else. In time you might've been able to do what you did for Jory with no problem, but right now you simply are not strong enough. No matter what you think. And what would've happened had you died huh? You have a duty now Jon. A duty to not only wield the Hallows. But to safeguard them from the world of men as well. If you die without appointing a successor, then magic only knows in whose hands they'll end up."

Throughout the chastisement, Jon felt shame and anger battling within him. Shame at his actions that nearly caused his death. But anger at his mentor as well. "So, what?" Jon yelled back. "I was just supposed to let Jory die?"

"Yes." Harry replied bluntly, fueling Jon's anger.

"I'm not like you!" Jon screamed. "I won't let people die just so that I can live! Not when I have the ability to save them!"

Across from him, Jon saw Harry's eyes falter. "Jon." Harry said in a softer tone. "Listen. I know that you want to save everyone you can, and trust me, that is a trait that we both share. But do you remember about the Rules that I told you about? The Rules that everyone, even the gods and people like us, need to follow?"

Calming slightly but still weary, Jon nodded. "You said one of the rules is that everyone and everything eventually must die."

"That's right." Harry nodded with a sigh. "And there is a follow up rule Jon. And that tis quite simply that no one, not the gods nor the Master of Death, can change that rule. Sometimes Jon we need to let go of those we love. It's a painful lesson, but one that you will need to learn eventually. If you don't, then as you watch those you love and care for die as you remain, you will change it something dark and twisted. I'm not saying don't do what you did Jon. But you have to weigh the consequences of your actions before you do them."

Breath coming in and out in short burst, Jon turned his back on his friend and mentor as he tried to compose himself. "I'm…I'm sorry." Jon hiccupped. "But not for trying to save Jory."

"I didn't expect you to be sorry Jon. Especially not for saving a life." Harry responded. "But now we need to deal with the consequences of using too much power at once."

Wiping at his eyes, Jon turned back around. His mentor in the time he had his back turned, his mentor had taken a seat at the lone table in the room, so Jon, finding no other option, took the seat opposite him. "What consequences?"

Across from him, Harry rubbed at the beard covering his jaw and chin. "You did more than just heal Jory." He said after several long moments of silence. "Jory was actually dead and his soul crossing over by the time you managed to get to him. You not only healed his physical body, but you reached across the Void and pulled his soul back into his body before it could reach the realm of the afterlife."

Jon's eyes widened. "I – that's possible?"

"Yes." Harry nodded. "And while rare, there are a very small number of magic practitioners who have been able to do perform the same feat before. But usually when they do it, they usually end up tearing the soul and bringing back only a portion. Which is why those who are resurrected always say that they feel…less I guess is the best word to describe it. But you didn't just bring back a piece of Jory. You brought his whole intact soul back. And that took a lot of power. More power than you currently had access to without having anyone bonded to you and with the Seals in place. Which means, in order to the power you needed…"

It didn't take Jon long to finish Harry's thought. And when he did his eyes widened in fear. "I broke the Seals you placed on me?" He spoke, his voice shaking as he did. He remembered well the warnings that Harry had given him. That if he forewent bonding or the Seals that kept his power in check, the power of the Master of Death would tear him asunder.

"Yes, you did." Harry nodded, confirming Jon's fears. "But you didn't break them completely. Only fractured them. However that fracture, if left unchecked, will eventually grow and erode away the rest of the Seals."

"How do I stop it?" Jon nearly begged as his fear took hold within him.

"First, you need to calm down. Even with the fact that you've been asleep for two weeks you still have a week or so until the erosion on the Seals will get the point of being noticeable." Harry countered firmly before holding out his hand and conjuring up a book onto the table between them. "The moment you wake up you need to find this book, it's with the others that you took from the Isle of Faces. I marked a few pages within before I passed on the mantle to you just in case something like this happened. Within those marked pages you'll find what you need to do in order to reinforce the Seals on you power. Of course, that is just one option."

"What's the other option?" Jon asked, desperate from anything that might help.

"You need to bind someone. And honestly, this would be the better solution." Harry answered. "If you do then your power will be distributed enough that it will stop the erosion, at least for a time. You won't have the years that you would've had originally, but you'll still have enough time to find the other three. However, if you don't want to bind someone right now then I need to warn you. Right now your magic is incredibly unstable and is trying to stabilize. Power bursts of emotion could affect your magic in any number of ways. And if you just happen to be in the vicinity of one who has a high affinity for binding with you, then you could bind on accident."

Biting his lip, Jon stared down at the book on the table, memorizing every inch of the book's cover. "I'll find what I need in the book. I don't want to bind someone in such a situation…especially if they won't have a say in it." Jon said, rising to his feet and looking around. "Um…thank you Harry. For everything. But…um…where are we? And how did you get here?"

Smiling, Harry rose to his feet as well. "Like I told you a while ago Jon. Magic is mysterious. And the things we don't know far out-weighs that which we do. And that's about as close to an answer as you're going to get from me right now. Cause right now you need to…wake up."

* * *

With the sun still nestled below the horizon giving off only the faintest of light, the guards of Winterfell that patrolled the night began their last rounds before they would be replaced for the day. As they passed by the stables, a small pair of hands grabbed hold of the edge of the wall as a set of grey eyes leaned out from behind.

Peaking up from behind the stable, Arya watched as the House Guards passed her by before she quietly slipped out from behind the wall and made her way towards the inner Keep of Winterfell. Glancing upwards towards the dozens of shuttered windows that faced the south, Arya spotted her target easily enough. Frowning at the height of the window, she pulled over a wooden crate, leaving tracks in the ground she pushed and pulled the heavy wooden box that was nearly as tall as her into position beneath the window. Once it was finally in place, Arya quickly jumped and pulled herself up onto the top of the crate.

Looking up at the window, her frown deepened as she realized that even with the height of the crate, she was still well short of half way to the window. '_Guess there's no helping it.'_ She thought before quickly glancing around the courtyard to make sure that no one had noticed her yet before turning back to the wall. Thankfully, Winterfell had been somewhat emptied as her Lord Father and her brother Robb had gone south just the day before to help settle some land dispute with Lord Cerwyn's lands. Which made it all that much easier for Arya to sneak around.

Staring at the brick wall, she quickly found her path. Curling her fingertips into a small separation between the bricks, Arya put her toes into another space and hoisted herself up. '_He's been home for two days now and still father won't let us see him!'_ She thought fiercely as she began scaling the walls towards Jon's room. '_Mother forbade us from seeing him and Sansa is too stupid to care…but I do! I want to see my brother! And no one will stop me!'_

Finally coming to his window, Arya grabbed hold of the base of his window and pulled herself up and over and into Jon's room with an undignified flop straight onto her back. "Ouch." Arya moaned, rubbing at he back as she lay on the floor. '_Stupid Jon._' Arya moaned as she rolled over onto her front and pushed herself up. '_Making me go through all of this just to see that he has a slight chill that…oh gods.'_

Rising to her feet, Arya's eyes fell upon the bed that dominated the corner of the room. Several layers of fur were stacked atop one another in a pile to provide as much warmth as possible. And beneath those layers laying perfectly still was her brother Jon. Risking a quick glance towards the door, hoping beyond hope that her little tumble into the room didn't alert the guard that she knew was posted outside the door, Arya tip-toed her way across the room and to the edge of Jon's bed.

Biting her lip, Arya pushed herself onto the fur covered bed spread and slowly made her way across the furs towards Jon. Staring down at her brother, Arya felt her heart thunder in her chest. Her brother looked…so different. He'd always been skinny, probably because he always ate less than everyone else for some reason. But now he looked even skinnier than before he'd left. She could actually see the bones in his cheeks pressing outwards.

Swallowing, Arya gently rocked her brother by his shoulders. "Jon." She whispered lowly, hoping not to alert the guard just outside. "Jon, you can stop being stupid now and wake up! Come one Jon…it's…it's so boring here without you! You need to wake up Jon! I…something is going on Jon. I don't know what it is but…but I need you with me. I need my brother with me again. So please Jon…please wake up!"

With her focus solely and only on her brother, she didn't notice the slight tingling sensation that began where her fingertips were touching Jon's shoulders and swiftly began traveling up her arm. "Jon!" Arya bit out slightly louder, but still lowly enough to not draw any attention into the room. "This is stupid Jon! You shouldn't be asleep this long! I overheard Maester Luwin and Talisa talking about you, about how there is no reason for you to still be asleep, so just wake up already! Come on Jon! Wake up! Don't make me get the cold bucket of water again!"

Without warning, Jon's dark eyes snapped open blankly staring upwards towards the ceiling. "Jon!" Arya cried, ignoring the slowly steadying tingling within her as she embraced her brother. "You're awake! I knew I could wake you up! You just needed a good hit!"

"Arya…" She heard Jon breath into her hair as she gripped him tighter. "Arya…you're…where…what is going…oh no! No don't-"

But whatever her brother was going to say was lost as the tingling feeling in her arms got to the point where she could no longer ignore it as it spread throughout her entire small body. The feeling was unlike anything Arya had ever felt before. It felt…wonderful. As if a part of her that'd always been within her but had been sealed away was suddenly free. Within the space of a few breaths, Arya could suddenly see every fine crack within the stone wall behind her brethren's bed. Every strand of hair on the furs covering her brother were suddenly visible to her eye as well. And the smells. She could smell. So many smells that she couldn't put a name too. And the noise…if she stared at the wall she could almost swear that she could hear the warm water from the hot springs rushing through the walls of Winterfell just like Maester Luwin told them.

"Arya!"

Jon's cry forced Arya to back away from her brother. But despite the urgency in his voice, Arya couldn't find it in her to look at him. Everything just looked so…different. New. It was strange and wonder. "Jon." She breathed, staring around her room with a grin. "I – what…there's just so much."

"Arya!" Jon's hand's on her face and his harsh tone was enough to pull Arya away from her musings of her surroundings and brought her back to her brother.

"Jon." Arya responded, staring at her brother.

As the looked at one another, Arya could swear she could almost…feel Jon within her. As if they were connected in some manner. '_But that is just stupid.'_ Arya thought vehemently, unable to tear her eyes away from her brother's dark gaze. '_That kind of thing only happens in those stupid stories from the south that Sansa is so obsessed about. The ones where the knights sweep the blushing maidens off their feet and swear their eternal love to them. It's not real.'_

_'I'm sorry to say this Arya…but this is very real.'_

Arya's eyes widened as she stared blankly at her brother. She…she could've sworn that she'd just heard his voice. But she'd been staring at him the entire time. And his lips hadn't' moved once. "What?" Arya breathed. "What is going on?"

Once again, Jon's lips didn't move, but she heard his voice clearly in her hear. '_I'm afraid Arya…that that question is going to take a really really long time to answer.'_

Arya stared at her brother completely stunned by what she just saw, or rather didn't see. And in response she did something that was definitely not something Arya Stark, the She-Wolf of Winterfell, had ever done. Her eyes rolled up into her head and the last thing she saw was the furs on Jon's bed quickly coming up on her and the sound of Jon's voice calling out for help.


	8. Chapter 8

**In one of the reviews I got asked a question about the characters ages. I've gone with a mixture of show and book ages (Theon is his age in the books, everyone else is the age they are in the show). So here are the ages as of this chapter (and as for the timeline, this is 5 years after the Greyjoy Rebellion or roughly 293AC):**

**Character ages:**

**Theon: 14**

**Robb / Jon: 12**

**Sansa: 9**

**Arya: 7**

**Bran: 6**

**Rickon: 4**

**Standard disclaimer that GOT and HP do not belong to me. And another trigger warning, this is GOT people…you should all know what to expect when you started reading it.**

* * *

Sitting in the Lord's Solar within Winterfell, Jon idly picked at his nails as he waited for his fath – uncle to call on him. It'd been a week since Jon had awoken to find Arya in his room with him, and in all that time not only had he not been able to see his sister again, but he been unable to leave his room at all. After she passed out, Jon had immediately scooped his lithe sister up in his arms and rush for the door, commanding the guard that was posted just outside his room to go and fetch Maester Luwin immediately as Jon made a mad dash for Arya's room.

The Maester and his ever-present shadow the Lady Maegyr arrived at Arya's room soon after Jon did. With barely word to him, the Maester ordered Jon to set his sister down on the bed so that he could examine her. Jon kept his back respectively turned the entire time as the Maester and Lady Maegyr looked his sister over while occasionally asking Jon a question about how she came to be in such a state.

'_Of course, I couldn't tell them the truth.'_ Jon thought bitterly. '_I couldn't tell them that I'm the Master of Death, and the reason why Arya was now in such a deep sleep was because I accidently bonded her to my power.'_

They were barely within Arya's room for a scant few minutes before door to her room was flung open with such force that it bounced back off the stone walls. The Lady Stark stood in the doorway, her eyes wide and her face pale as she stared at her unconscious daughter on the bed. Then her gaze shifted to him. And the paleness within her face vanish, replaced with a rage unlike any Jon had ever seen before. He didn't remember her crossing the room, nor did he remember when she had the time to pull her arm back. All he remembered was that her sudden and full arm slap across him jaw nearly broke it and sent him spiraling down into a heap on the floor.

He didn't remember much after that. He remembered a pair of rough hands grabbing him under his arms and forcibly dragging him out of the room while Lady Stark screeched at the top of her lungs. He thought he heard something about checking her innocence, but Jon couldn't focus on her voice, hells, he could hardly focus on the walls of Winterfell as he was dragged away from Arya, his head constantly rolling as he still reeled from the Lady Stark's full armed slap. And then he was back in his room, being roughly tossed onto the floor with his door slamming shut behind him and the lock audibly clicking into place.

After that, Jon knew nothing but solitude for a week solid. No one came to visit nor to even talk to him through his door. The only time his door even opened was twice a day. Once for a maid, who wasn't allowed to talk to him, to change out the chamber pot in his room. And the second time to provide him with a single tray of food that he needed make last the day. The solitude he could deal with. Or at least he used to be able to deal with it. But now he was no longer alone. At least not completely. He could almost feel Arya in his mind. But it felt…incomplete somehow. Like whatever was supposed to happen between them had yet to finish before it was interrupted. He could tell that she was sleeping restlessly and he an urge, no, urge was too soft of a word. He needed to see her. But no matter how hard he pleaded at his door or what he promised, the door to his room remained sealed and he was left alone with only the faltering link to Arya to keep him company.

It took a week for Lord Stark to return from Castle Cerwyn just south of Winterfell. A week of agonizing torture as Jon was left with nothing to do but to agonize over the only partial bond that now existed between himself and his cousin. No. With his sister. Despite who his parents truly were, Arya would always first and foremost be his sister.

Hearing the door to the solar being opened, Jon immediately got to his feet. He'd barely managed to stand fully before Lord Stark marched into the room with the Lady Stark right on his heels. Just as she had a week prior, there was a look of utter hatred in the Lady Starks eyes as she regarded him. But strangely enough there was now a new emotion within her eyes that Jon couldn't put a name too. It almost looked like she was, pleased. Which did absolutely nothing to settle Jon's growing resentment with her.

Lord Stark however was a completely different story. His fath – uncle, was completely shut off without an ounce of emotion showing on his face. '_Not good.'_ Jon thought as the door shut firmly behind the two. '_The only time he has this look is when he is dealing with matters of justice.'_

Silence stretched between the three of them as Jon and Lord Stark stared at one another. "Arya has been unconscious for a week now." Lord Stark stated calmly, his eyes never leaving Jon as he spoke. "Maester Luwin and Lady Maegyr have tried just about everything they can to wake her, but nothing is working. What happened?"

Eyes flickering towards Lady Stark, Jon felt his anger rise as he noticed the slight upturning of her lips. "Does it even matter Lord Stark?" Jon asked. "Lady Stark has already told you some poisonous fabricated tale about how I must have done something to Arya to harm her. What is my word against hers?"

His words were petty and probably not the best to say, at least at the moment. But seeing the anger in Lady Stark's eyes was worth whatever wraith was about to befall him. "How dare you accuse me of lying you bast-"

The sound of wood cracking resounded throughout the room as Lord Stark's fist shot out in front of Lady Stark and landed against the door to the solar, stopping her in her tacks and cracking one of the heavy wooden panels on the door. "That is enough!" There were few times that Jon could say he was afraid, truly afraid, and at the moment, staring into the cold eyes of Lord Stark with his fist embedded into the door, Jon was more afraid than he'd ever been in his entire life. "I leave with Robb for one week. For one week! And when I come back, I find that Jon is awake but sequestered in his chambers as if he were less than a prisoner and Arya is unconscious. I am in no mood for pettiness from either of you! I will know what has happened and I will know now!"

Fighting to keep his fear under control, Jon spared a quick glance towards the Lady Stark and felt his fear dissipate slightly as he noticed that he wasn't the only one having trouble keeping his fear of Lord Stark in check. Jon could tell his uncle exactly what happened and why she was still unconscious, but the truth of the matter was he was hesitant to do so. At least in the presence of the Lady Stark. God's only knew what her reaction would be. But Lord Stark had an ability that was almost borderline magic in his ability to command the truth from someone whenever he held their gaze.

"I don't know how Arya got into my room Lord Stark." Jon began, telling what truth he could for now. "All that I remember was waking up and seeing Arya at my bedside shaking me. Then," hesitating, Jon tried to find a way to tell the truth without necessarily telling everything. "I felt something strange and Arya just started staring off into the distance. And then she just collapsed. After she fell, I carried her to Maester Luwin and told him what happened. And then I was thrown into my rooms and haven't left since."

Lord Stark held his gaze unflinching the entire time he spoke. Even after he'd finished, his uncles gaze never wavered. "Is that all that happened?"

Swallowing, Jon nodded. "Yes, Lord Stark."

"You did nothing untoward with Arya?"

The question stunned Jon for a moment before he felt his anger flare at the insinuation. "Despite what some might believe, I am not the bastard they believe me to be." Jon hissed angrily, not backing down from Lord Stark's stare. "Sometimes I truly wish that I was just so I could justify their hatred for me. But I'm not. Arya is my sister, despite what some say and want. We may not share the Stark name, but she is the sister I choose above all others. I would kill any who even looked at her inappropriately, let alone act untoward with her."

Lord Stark held his eyes as the two battled wills with one another, neither willing to back down. "Good." Lord Stark said suddenly, pulling back and surprising Jon as he turned to Lady Stark. "Cat, see to Sansa and Arya. I will handle things from here."

Lady Stark blinked, her eyes moving back and forth between Jon and the Lord of Winterfell. "My Lord I-"

"Cat." Lord Stark bit out harshly, turning his hard gaze off Jon and onto his wife. "We will talk about this at another time. For now, see to Sansa and Arya. Now."

Lady Stark opened her mouth to say something, no doubt something disparaging about himself, but the cold look from Lord Stark froze the words in her throat. "As you say, my Lord Husband." She agreed quietly as Lord Stark retracted his fist from the door, allowing his Lady Wife to quietly leave the two of them alone.

Now alone, Jon watched as Lord Stark's shoulders visibly slumped as his uncle moved across the room and towards a small cabinet near the back of the room. Silently, Jon watched as the man who raised him pulled out a small container that Jon knew contained the northern drink called whiskey and proceeded to pour the contents into two tin cups. After downing one of the cups, his uncle refilled it before making his way back towards him. When the two were less than an arm's length apart, he held out on of the two cups towards him. "You're nearly a man now Jon." Lord Stark stated as Jon stared down at the cup with wide eyes. "And after what you've had to endure, I'm sure you could use it."

Taking the offered cup, Jon started down into its depths as Lord Stark took a few steps back from him. There wasn't much in the cup, maybe slightly less than half a finger width, but it was far more than Lord Stark had ever offered either himself or Robb before in the past. "Some say that the answers to problems can be found in the bottom of cup." Lord Stark said as Jon swirled the brownish liquid around. "It's horseshit. Answers are never found in the bottom of cup. Only problems. But sometimes a cup can help to calm the nerves."

Still not drinking the cup, Jon watched silently as Lord Stark sat down behind his desk and began to idly turn his own cup in his hands. When Jon still refused to drink or say anything, Lord Stark sighed and set his cup down. "Jon," he began, folding his hands on his desk. "There is nothing that I can do to take back the injustice of this past week. But I vow that this will not happen again. You may not carry the Stark name, but you have the Stark blood Jon."

Hearing that phrase broke Jon out of his stupor. "Aye, I do have the blood of the Starks. But not your blood, Lord Stark."

Jon was expecting Lord Stark to deny the accusation or to try and cover his tracks. But instead of trying to continue to live the lie, Lord Stark merely sighed and drained his cup in a single go before setting it down, his eyes not able or willing to meet Jon's. "So you know then."

"Aye." Jon nodded, there wasn't much need for clarification on eithers part. Still holding his cup in his hands, Jon made his way towards his father in all but blood and sat down across from him. "I have the blood of the wolf within me. But it is only half of who I am. The blood of the dragon runs just as strong through me."

Jon had never seen his adoptive father look so defeated as he did in that moment. "Jon…I never meant to-"

"It's alright, Lord Stark…uncle." Jon said, cutting his uncle off as he held up his hand. "I know. And if I ever find myself in the same position, I only pray to the old gods that I would have the strength of will to make the same choice as you."

Confusion and relief warred across Lord Starks face as the two continued to stare at one another. "What do you mean?"

Doing his best to keep himself composed, Jon thought back to the many conversations regarding his birth and Lord Starks actions he'd had with Harry while the two where within his mindscape. "I'm the son of a wolf and a dragon…a true born son. My very existence, if it is now, would incur a rebellion and worse to the King, I'm living proof that everything he thought was a lie. The easiest thing to do would be to kill me and be done with it. But you didn't. You held your family higher than your personal honor…and for that I cannot thank you enough. It's because of your actions that I'm even alive right now. I was upset for a long time after I learned of my true parentage…but my mentor helped me work through it."

Spinning his cup once more in his hand, Jon down its contents in one go – and immediately started coughing so hard he was afraid that he would cough up a lung. "Gods uncle." Jon coughed, setting the cup down as a steady warmth seeped into him from the drink. "How do people drink that stuff?"

"With much practice." Lord Stark replied, the corners of his lips twitching upwards. "But don't expect me to allow you to become so seasoned, your mother would never forgive me if I allowed you to become a drunk."

Feeling himself smile in return, Jon shook his head. "From what I've heard, she probably would crack my skull open with some sort of mace if I do."

"More likely a sword." His uncle countered chuckling. "She always had more of a hand at the sword rather than the mace." His uncles smile wilted slightly as his 'Lord's face' slipped back into place. "The truth of your parentage is dangerous Jon. Even now after all these years. As much as I want you to be the your own man-"

"I have to continue to be your bastard son uncle." Jon finished for him with a nod. "I understand. It's safer for everyone that nothing changes. Well…at least nothing more than what already has I guess."

"Aye." His uncle nodded. "And I will talk to Lady Stark, you have my word on that. This past week will not repeat itself. But there is something that I must know Jon. Until recently only two souls alive knew who your mother was. Now there are four. I trust three of us to keep this to ourselves…but I need to know who told you Jon. I need to know that we can trust them to keep this information to themselves."

The reminder of his mentor killed whatever good mood was left within Jon. "There's no need uncle. Harry won't tell anyone my secret. Not anymore."

"Harry? Is that his name?" His uncle asked, to which Jon nodded. "And how do you know he won't tell anyone? And speaking of this mysterious man, how did even contact you in the first place. There have been no ravens or visitors for you that I am aware of."

"He won't tell anyone because he's dead uncle." Jon responded flatly. Even if it was what Harry had wanted, Jon still felt the guilty for being the one to bring about his end. "And as for the how and why he contacted me…well…that is a very long story. One that goes back to just after you returned from the Greyjoy Rebellion."

* * *

Standing with his back towards his solar and facing out the open windows, Ned stared skywards at the stars littering the night sky as he breathed in the cool northern air. The conversation he'd had with Jon, which had lasted well past nightfall, had left him more than slightly shaken for multiple reasons. '_It's one thing to think of the Master of Death and accept that he might be real and not just a tale. But it is quite another thing to have the truth confirmed.'_ Ned thought, closing his eyes. '_Now I know he's real. And not only is he real…but he passed on his title to my nephew. Jon Snow, or rather Aegon Targaryen Sixth of his name. The hidden rightful heir of the Iron Throne and the Master of Death. Quite the legacy he has. And not just Jon…but Arya now as well.'_

The truth about what had transpired between Jon and Arya had shaken Ned down to his core. After Howland had all but confirmed just who Jon had met with on the Isle of Faces, Ned had poured over the Stark Family Grimoire searching for any references at all to the Master of Death, and the few that he managed to find always referenced the fact that the man always traveled with four women who were referred too as his 'Angels'. '_And now Arya will join those same ranks. And unfortunately, not by choice. Although if she were given the choice, as much as it pains me to admit, I know which way she'd choose.'_

Ned was not looking forward to the time when he would have to explain just why Arya's destiny no longer laid with House Stark. She was now permanently bonded with the Master of Death and would outlive all them and their children and their children's children. '_And the trade off for such a prolonged life and power is that she is now barren.'_ Ned thought morosely. '_How does one explain to their wife and their seven-name day child that said child is now barren?'_

Turning his back on the northland landscape, Ned made his way back into the room proper and stood before the low burning fire within his hearth. Unfortunately, the revelation about himself, his mentor and Arya were not the only thing that Jon had discussed with him. He'd also told him, on Ned's urging, just what purpose Jon was meant to serve as the Master of Death. And now that he knew, Ned truly wished he didn't. The Master of Death primary responsibility was to safeguard three objects. The Cloak of Invisibility, which was in Jon's room. The Death Stick, which Jon now proudly wore at his waist and had dubbed Deaths Bane. And the Ring of Resurrection. The one item that truly frightened Ned more than any other, especially after Jon showed him just what the ring could do. It had taken nearly the entire decanter of whiskey to calm his nerves after Jon summoned the ghost of his mother, Ned's sister, Lynna Stark.

'_I knew that Lyanna would be upset with me over Jon's upbringing.'_ Ned thought with only the slightest amount of mirth as he recalled Jon summoning the apparition of his sister into the room, only to have her immediately turn on Ned and try to club him over the head. '_If it wasn't for the fact that she wasn't truly here, I would have a welt the size of the Wall on my head. As it is…I am not looking forward our reunion when my time finally comes.'_

The only thing that had given him some measure of peace was when Jon all but vowed to him that he would not seek out to claim his birth right. '_I have more responsibilities than you can possibly imagine uncle.'_ Jon had told him when Ned had brought it up. '_Most I don't even know of yet. Honestly, the Iron Throne is not a responsibility that I even want.'_

Hearing the lightest of knocks on his chamber's door, Ned sighed as he began to mentally prepare himself for what was about to transpire. '_As if this past week hasn't already been stressful enough.'_ He thought sourly. "Come in."

Hearing the door open, Ned didn't need to look to know who had entered as soft footfalls made their way slowly towards him. "Ned."

Taking one last calming breath, Ned kept his attention firmly on the flames, not willing to turn and face her, not yet at least. The pain was still too fresh in his mind. "What have I told you on multiple occasions Cat?" He asked, still refusing to face his Lady Wife.

"Ned." There was a nervous undertone to his wife's voice that was almost impossible to miss. "I am not sure what you are imp-"

Unable to take it any longer, Ned turned sharply and glared at his wife. "Don't play ignorant with me Cat." Ned hissed. "What are your House words Cat?"

Cat's brows furrowed. "Ned what-"

"The Tully words Cat. What are they?"

Swallowing visibly, Cat's back straightened as she met his gaze. "Family, duty, honor."

"Aye." Ned nodded. "Family first as it is the most important. Jon might not carry the Stark name, but the blood of the Starks flows through his veins. He is a brother to our children. He is family. He would rather die than let any harm come to any of his brothers or sisters. He is family."

Cat's face continued to pale with each word Ned spoke. "But Arya-"

"Then there is duty." Ned pressed on, unwilling to let her get a word in edge wise. "It was your duty as Lady of Winterfell to investigate why Arya fell unconscious. Had you done your duty, as I have now belatedly done for you, you would've learned that the guard posted outside his room reported that no one had entered or left the room until Jon emerged holding our unconscious daughter in his arms. And knowing our daughter, and after talking to Jon, it is most probably that Arya snuck in to see him, no doubt through the window in his room that is near the yard."

"And then there is honor Cat." Ned growled, taking a step towards her, which made her in turn take a step back away from him. "What honor did you have in insinuating that Jon took advantage of Arya when there was no proof of such a thing happening? What honor was there in spreading such a belief to the staff of Winterfell? What honor was there in locking a child in his room and all but starving him for a week for a crime he did not even commit in the first place?!"

Ned hadn't even realized that his voice had risen to the point yelling, nor had he realized that he'd been advancing on Cat until she was forced to stop moving away from him as her back hit the wall. The pure fear in her eyes sent chills down Ned's spine, and not in a pleasant manner either. He hated this. He hated arguing with her. However much they may differ, she was still his wife of twelve years and he had come to love her dearly, despite her many faults.

Taking a calming breath, Ned forced himself to back away from his nearly cowering wife. "What happened this week will never happen again. Am I clear Cat?""

"Yes." Catelyn replied almost immediately, her voice trembling with fear.

He wanted to take her in his arms and comfort her, to drive away her fear. But he couldn't. Not yet at least. She'd made a mistake, several mistakes. And he couldn't let the matter lay so easily. "From now on, should I find the need to leave Winterfell Robb will be the acting Lord of Winterfell and his word will be law. Is that understood?"

"Yes," Cat nodded once more, a fight seemingly gone from her.

Taking a breath, Ned hesitated to add the last bit on, but it was necessary for the survival of the pack. "And you will apologize to Jon for your treatment of him this past week and for your insinuation of him taking advantage of Arya." Predictably, Cat made to protest, but Ned merely held up his hand bring an abrupt end to any counter from her. "You will not have to do it in public. But you will do it in front of our children and explain to them why you were wrong."

Cat said nothing as she stood there staring at him, the color slowly returning to her as her face turned from a pale white to a soft red in the space of a few heart beats. "This is not meant to humiliate you Cat." Ned tried to reassure her. "You don't have to love Jon. All I ask is that you tolerate him. If not for the fact that he is a motherless boy, then for the fact that our children love him as their own brother. The Starks have managed to endure the long night, rival kings and lords contenting for the throne of winter, countless invasions from other lands and the dragons because we believe in one thing above all else. The lone wolf dies, but the pack survives. Your actions brought division to the pack. And now you need to fix it Cat. That's all I'm asking of you, nothing more."

A war of emotion raged across Cat's face as clear as day. Eventually the war died down and her shoulders, once risen in defiance of the command, slumped in defeat. "As you command, my husband."

Knowing that he wasn't going to get any further with the current conversation, Ned merely gave her a curt nod at her acceptance before turning his back on his wife and making his way back towards the hearth. There was one more thing that he needed to tell her. But by the gods…he didn't want too. He didn't want to shatter what little peace existed within Winterfell. "When I spoke with Jon, he mentioned that he believes he knows what ails Arya." He said, not turning around to face Cat as he spoke lest she see that he was holding something back from his explanation. "He asked to see her tonight, and I allowed it under the supervision of Maester Luwin. Jon gave me his word that Arya would be back on her feet by sunrise. When we meet to break our fast in the morning you will make your apology."

"Is…is there anything else?"

"No." Ned immediately responded, even as a voice inside cried out, calling him a coward. There was more. So much more. But he didn't know how to put it into words without irreversibly damaging their already faltering marriage.

To Ned's utmost surprise, he felt two lithe arms wrap around his midsection from behind. Feeling his eyes beginning to water, he lightly patted the hands around his waist as he felt Cat rest her head against his back. Standing in silence, Ned basked in the feel of his wife leaning against him before breaking her hold and turning so that he could wrap her small frame in his arms. "I…I can't say I will ever tolerate the ba…boy Ned." Cat mumbled against his chest. "He's a symbol of your betrayal to me…to us. But…I will try. For our children's sake."

Feeling the pain of withholding the truth from her in his chest, Ned wrapped his arms tighter around his wife and held her to him. '_It would be so much easier to just tell her the truth.'_ Ned thought as the two stood in the middle of the room in silence as they drew comfort from one another. '_But it is no longer my secret to tell. And should it ever come out…the fewer that know the truth the better. I will not have Cat or my children put in harms way. And this knowledge would do exactly that.'_

* * *

Night had descended upon the north as the youngest daughter of Lord Eddard Stark stealthily made her way out of the window of her room and started to make her way down the side of the inner keep of Winterfell and towards the top of the rampart that extended out of the keep that was just below her window. Judging her distance, Arya let go of the wall and landed silently on the roof of the rampart before making her way across the roof and towards the godswood. Despite only having the light of the moon to guide her footing, Arya made her way across the roofs Winterfell without taking a single misstep. To Arya, the light of the moon was more than enough to light her path despite the fact only a small sliver of the existed that night, and even that was covered by the clouds in the sky.

Smiling as she finally reached the godswood, Arya took a quick glance about checking for any of her father's men before stepping off the roof and falling a distance nearly five times as tall as herself before landing gracefully on the ground without a sound. Looking up at the impressive distance she'd fallen from, Arya felt herself smile. Before…well whatever happened with Jon she'd made a similar fall from only half the distance and it hurt! Maester Luwin had even commented while treating her that she was luckily that she hadn't broke anything from the fall. But now, now she could jump from over twice the distance and land without a single shred of pain.

As she made her way thought the trees of the godswood, Arya reflected upon the past week since she'd been awoken by her brother Jon. To say that the week had been a strange one would be silly. Nothing was as it should've been! For starters, mother had apologized to Jon for forcing him into isolation and not giving him the chance to explain his actions the next morning after she awoke! Her mother never apologized to Jon for anything! But she did! Of course, after Jon said that 'there was nothing to forgive', her mother returned to once more ignore her brother's very existence.

And then if her mother's actions weren't strange enough, Jon had to follow it up with his own strange actions. After they'd finished their fast, the guards had brought in the two chests that Jon had brought back with him from wherever he'd gone. Then, to the amazement of everyone in the room, he simply undid the latch and opened one of them! Arya and Bran had tried everything they could to get those chests open, and she knew that her father's men had tried as well, but nothing would open them! And then Jon just opened them as if they were never even locked in the first place!

But the strangeness of the chests was soon forgotten as Jon revealed their contents. There were five Valyrian steel daggers within the first! There were also some books or something that made Maester Luwin and Talisa go wide eyed. But she didn't really care about those. Her eyes were solely and only focused on the near priceless treasures of real Valyrian steel! And then Jon had gone and given one to each of them! She had her own Valyrian steel dagger! Of course, her mother immediately confiscated them from herself, Sansa, Bran and their still baby brother Rickon. But Arya didn't care. She had her own dagger! One that was hers and hers alone!

But he didn't end there. He kept pulling things out! Arya honestly didn't know how such small chests could hold so much! There were dozens of books, one of which nearly made Maester Luwin pass out for some reason. Gauntlets for Robb and Theon of all people, who looked like he'd swallowed something really sour when Jon presented the shinning metal gauntlets to him. There was also some jewelry for silly Sansa and Jayne. And Jon even gave a golden wolf pendant to her mother, who accepted it with a completely flat look, which Arya thought was just rude.

The end of their meal and gifts brought an end to the strangeness involving her family, but for Arya it was just the beginning. During her sewing lessons with Septa Mordane, Arya could've sworn that she heard the needle that Jayne dropped midsession hit the floor. And then when Sansa and Jayne began looking for it, Arya was able to point them directly too it without having ever seen it!

Then there was their weekly arms lesson with Ser Rodrik. For some reason holding the blade just felt more…right. And when she was in the ring, it was almost as if she knew exactly what all of her opponents were going to do! Well, maybe that wasn't quite right. But Arya had never moved faster than she had that day. She managed to block every attack sent her way. And every time she attacked or counter her hits landed squarely without fail.

Ser Rodrik said that she was a natural, something that made her swell with pride! Finally, something that she was far better at than her 'perfect' sister Sansa! Both Jon and Robb congratulated her as well. Although Jon for some reason was looking at her strangely the whole time as if he knew something she didn't. But then Theon had to go and ruin it by saying that everyone was just taking it easy on her and that was why she was able to win so readily. Which then promoted her to immediately challenge him in the ring.

She honestly hadn't meant to hurt him. She really didn't. She just wanted him to stop trying to talk down on her abilities. But instead when he stepped in the ring Arya didn't see him as their family ward or even a friend to her brother. She saw him as one who insulted the pack! Then he had to go and try to insult her further by not taking her seriously as he stood lazily in the ring while holding his blunted blade with one hand. Which she then promptly knocked out of his grip before smashing her blunted blade against the back of his knee and then following it up by bring her sword back around and catching him upside the head. The blow had knocked Theon out cold and bloodied the side of his face. The cut was so bad that Maester Luwin was forced to sew the wound shut with a few loops of thread.

Arya had been terrified that the incident would bring about the end to her training in the yard. And based on the amount of yelling Theon was doing, it was a definite possibility. But then her father had surprised her. Instead of banning her from the yard, he congratulated her. And then within the same gaze Theon a through talking down too about not disrespecting one's opponent whether they be a man or woman, child or adult.

Weaving through the trees of the godswood, Arya braced herself against one of the old trees while leaning out to peer around it. The corners of her lips twitched upwards at the sight of her goal standing before the weirwood with his back to her. Jon Snow. Her brother. The one who'd asked her to sneak out of her room after night had fallen in order to meet him in the godswood. The one who said that he knew what was going on with her. Why she felt different than before. And the one who promised answers to those questions if she came out here tonight to meet with him.

But now, seeing Jon with his back turned towards her Arya had different thought. A wickedly fun thought. Crouching down silently, Arya scooped up some dirt from the ground and pressed the moist dirt between her hands until it resembled a ball. It wasn't as good as doing it with the summer snows, but it would do the trick. At least she would be able to extract some sort of vengeance on her favorite brother for being all secretive and for worrying her when he came back from his strange trip on the verge of death.

Sneaking as close as she dared, Arya brought her arm back and let her dirt missile fly right at her brothers back. Smiling in triumph, Arya watched the dirt fly right for her brother – and then continue flying right past him as he stepped off the side effectively dodging her attack with his back still towards her. "Nice try Arya." Jon called out, his back still facing her. "But your going to have to do better than that if you want to sneak up on me."

Huffing, Arya made her way out from her hiding place and shuffled her feet towards her brother. "I almost had you with that one."

Turning around, Arya felt her spirits lift as she saw the bright smile on her brothers face. "Almost. But not quite." Jon replied, stepping up to her and ruffling her hair, which made her in turn kick at his shins, which he once again evaded with ease. "But still, you managed to sneak out of your room and get here without anyone spotting you. Very impressive sister. You just won me quite a few silver stags curtesy of Robb."

Hearing the slight cracking of a stick, Arya whirled about, her eyes wide as she watched two figures, one larger and one smaller, emerge from the opposite direction of where she'd entered the godswood. '_Father…Robb? What are they doing here?'_ Arya thought, her head going back and forth between Jon, Robb and her father. Arya felt a brief moment of betrayal sting within her as she saw her father. '_Father isn't one to allow for the breaking of rules. And leaving my room at night and alone…that is breaking more than a few.'_ She thought. '_But Jon…he asked me to come. He…he didn't set this up to get me in trouble…did he?'_

Her fears of a reprimand from her father were quickly quenched however as her father came forward and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. "I'm not entirely sure which feeling is stronger within me little wolf." Her father said, giving her the slight warm smiles that he reserved only for Arya and her siblings. "Pride at your ability to be so unfearingly and skilled to make your way here. Or disappointment in the men I assigned to you to watch you and your siblings. I wonder just how good of a job they are actually doing if you were able to give them the slip so easily."

Arya felt her fear disappear completely like snow under the high sun. '_Father…he's proud of me!'_ "Well," Robb cut in, ending the moment. "Now that you're here, perhaps Jon can finally tell us what brought this little gathering together."

"I suppose I might as well." Jon sighed as he rubbed the back of his head, something Arya noticed that he always did whenever he wasn't sure of something. "This is…complicated. Although that might be too simplistic of a word for our current situation. But before I say anything, I need a vow from both of you, Arya and Robb, not to say a single word about what we're about to speak about. Not even to your mother, Theon nor Sansa, Bran or Rickon. Lord Stark knows what this is about. And Robb you need to know because you're the Heir of Winterfell and Arya needs to know because she's permanently involved now."

Blinking, Arya glanced towards Robb and her father. Robb looked just as confused as she felt. But their father, he was completely straight faced. "You…you need a vow from us before you'll tell us what's going on?" Robb asked, looking back and forth between father and Jon. "And you're saying that we can't even tell the rest of our family? Why?"

"Because this is important Robb." Jon responded. "I'm not saying we won't ever tell everyone else, because we will. But right now…the fewer the people that know about this the better."

Arya kept silent as she watched the exchange. The vow wasn't a problem for her. She trusted Jon completely. And if he said that this was necessary, then she believed him. "I swear by the old gods while standing in the godswood that I will not say a word of what is spoken here tonight." She said confidently, much to the surprise of Robb.

Robb frowned at her oath before turning to their father. "Father…you will allow this?"

Arya could see the discomfort on her father's face plan as day. "Normally I would not. We are a pack, and the pack must be able to trust each completely in order to survive. Unfortunately, sometimes something will come around that we must keep secrets even from those we love. No matter how much pain it brings to others. Unintended or not." Her father answered with an obvious note of pain in his voice as his eyes briefly flickered to Jon. '_Strange…I wonder why he did that?'_

Shoulder's slumping in defeat, Robb repeated her oath. "I swear by the old gods while standing within the godswood before the weirwood that I will not speak of what transpires tonight."

She could see Jon let out a breath of relief as her oldest brother finished his oath. "Alright." Jon said, once again scratching at the back of his head. "I'm…honestly not sure just how to go about this. So, I think that I'll take a page from my mentor and dive into the deep end as it were."

The saying escaped Arya, but it's meaning quickly became apparent as Jon lifted his hand. With but a gentle wave of his hand, Arya felt the winds within the godswood shift as something roared to life within her. Something powerful. Something crawling beneath her skin begging to be let out. To be used.

Robb's startled gasp brought her back to what was happening around them, and she felt her own jaw drop. Where there was once nothing, there were now four small finely made benches, one behind each of them. Eyes moving back to Jon, Arya watched in rapt fascination as Jon's hand twitched again as he mumbled something under his breath. Almost as if they'd been drawn by his unspoken command, fallen sticks and branches from around the godswood began to gather under his hand, forming into a perfect fire pile. Then once the pile was complete, Jon snapped his fingers, and in response a small flame came to life within the pile of sticks. The flame quick caught the wood and spread, creating a low burning fire in between the four of them.

Eyes wide in wonder, Arya held out her hand towards the fire. She could feel the heat of the flames on her skin, telling her that she wasn't just seeing things. Turning around, she then poked at the bench behind her. Her finger struck the hard-wooden surface, confirming that this too was not an illusion. "Well, I guess that you two have more than a few questions for me now."

"More than a few." Arya snorted as she watched her brother inspect the fire and bench just as she had. But strangely, or perhaps not so strangely, her father seemed to completely accept what was happening as he took the offered seat while Jon took the one opposite their father.

"You…you can use magic!" Robb exclaimed before Arya could, his eyes wide. "How…when?"

Leaning forward so that his forearms were resting against his knees, Jon gave their brother a small smile. "Well, as for the how…I honestly don't know. Magic is far more complex than you can possibly imagine. Even my mentor, who was far older than you can possibly imagine, knew everything there was to know about magic. And as for the when, well I was first approached by my mentor here in the godswood after Lord Stark returned from the Greyjoy Rebellion."

The pieces slowly started to come together in her mind as Arya took her offered seat. "That…that's why you left Winterfell." She said non-accusingly. "You went to go and meet with this 'mentor' of yours, didn't you?"

Nodding Jon held out his hand, to which a random stick flew up into it. "It was difficult for him to teach me here in Winterfell, because honestly he was never here in the first place. And before anyone asks me how that is possible, don't. I honestly don't know how he did it. At least not yet. I still have hundreds of tomes of his to read through before I can start to understand half of what he did. But yes, I left Winterfell to go and meet with him one last time."

"One last time?" Robb repeated, finally taking his seat. "You mean…"

"Aye." Jon nodded, and Arya could swear she could almost feel the sadness within him as if it were her own. "He's passed on from this life. But not before teaching me as much as he could in what little time we had."

"You were only gone for a moon's turn." Robb stated. "And by yours and Lord Reeds admission, you two were only on the Isle of Faces for two days. How much could he teach you?"

"A lot." Jon responded with a sly grin. "It's true we were only on the Isle for two days, but in actuality I was there for years as Harry taught me all he could. Like I said, I still have years of studying to do before I can even begin to compare myself to him."

As Arya listened to her brother, a suspicion began to form within her mind. '_A mentor that no one could see or hear besides Jon. One who could willingly come and go from Winterfell as he pleased with no one even noticing his presence. A powerfully sorcerer who by Jon's own admission has lived far longer than any of us could believe. And he lives, lived, on the Isle of Faces! There…there's only one that actually matches that description!'_

"Your mentor…it was the Master of Death wasn't it!" Arya nearly shouted, rising to her feet as excitement coursed through her.

Across the fire she could see Robb about to refute her claim, but then he stopped as he no doubt began to put the pieces together just as she had. "Aye." Jon nodded, confirming her thought. "He was. And now…now that mantle has been passed down to me."

Robb's eyes widened almost comically so, and Arya knew that her own eyes were doing the same. "You," Robb began slowly, staring at their brother with a mixture of awe and fear. "You're…you're the Master of Death now?"

Jon merely nodded. "Aye, I am."

Holding out his arm, Arya gasped as the space just beyond his fingers shimmered. In the time it took her to blink, a sword had appeared in his outstretched hand. The pale white sword that he had with him ever since he'd returned from the Isle of Faces. "This," Jon began holding the sword up. "This blade is one of the things that name me as the Master of Death. There are others…but now is not the best time to go into them. But Lord Stark has seen them, so he knows that I speak true."

"Aye." Their father nodded, his posture completely relaxed as he remained seated. "It seems impossible I know. But Jon, your brother, speaks true. He is now the Master of Death. There is no denying it."

"This…this is incredible!" Robb shouted, his face breaking out into a silly smile. "The Master of Death…a member of House Stark! Just like in the legends from the Age of Heroes! No one will dare stand against us now with you by our side! But first we need to set you up with a keep of your own. And I'm sure once we spread the word that you will have no trouble finding a lady wi-"

"Robb." Jon said, gently but firmly as he stopped their brother mid-word. "I cannot be a Lord."

Robb's face fell and Arya felt her own confusion rise. "Why?" Arya asked. "Is it because you don't have the Stark name? That's stupid. You can pick your own name! Or we can give you the Stark name!

"Because I have responsibilities now, responsibilities that you cannot possibly imagine. Some that even I'm having trouble wrapping my mind around." Jon admitted. "It's not that I don't want everything you're offering, because I do. I want a simple life…but now I can't have that. I will always stand by and support House Stark in every endeavor Robb. But we also can't let what I am spread."

"Why not?" Robb asked curiously.

"Because think of it Robb," Jon continued, staring Robb right in the eye. "The Andals fear the legend of the Master of Death. Hells, they tell their children horror stories about the Master of Death to get them to behave. And fear can make people do desperate and stupid things. Not too mention, your own mother is a devout follower of the Seven. Imagine what she will think if she finds out that I'm basically, in the eyes of the Followers of the Seven, right next a demon? She already fears me because she fears that I will try and take Winterfell from you, which I swear I will never do. What would she do with the knowledge of what I am? Not to mention there are others, Tywin Lannister for one, who would either seek to control me or kill me and all those associated with me simply because I present a threat to their power. No, in time perhaps we can let it out of what I am. But for now, it's best that this secret remains between the four of us."

As much as Arya didn't want to admit it, as much as she didn't want to think the worst of her mother, Jon was right. She remembered vividly when Old Nan told them the story of the Bran the Builder, the Master of Death and his Angels. Septa Mordane, on mothers' orders, had given all of them a long lecture about how the Master of Death a demon in the skin of a man, if he even existed at all. And that they should fear him above all others. And then her mother had followed up the lecture by banning Old Nan from ever telling stories about the mythical figure again. She could only imagine what her mother or Septa Mordane would do if they were to learn that the Master of Death was not only real, but he was Jon Snow of all people.

"Whoa…" Robb breathed, breaking the silence that had descended upon the godswood. "I – I can't even imagine. Gods. This is…this is incredible. And I swear to you brother I will keep your secrets. But I have to ask, if this information is so dangerous then why have you risked exposure by telling Arya and myself about yourself? I mean, I can understand telling father, but why us?"

Arya wanted to smack her brother upside the head. He was being silly. But…he did have a point, as much as she didn't want to admit it. "Because you're going to be the future Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North." Jon stated plainly as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "You need to know what kind of assests you'll have available to you when the time comes. And as for Arya…well…through circumstances beyond hers and my own control, she's a part of this now. Permanently."

"I'm involved?" Ayra squeaked, though she would never admit to doing so. "How?"

Arya could see that her question made not only Jon, but her father visibly uncomfortable as both shifted in their seats. "Arya," Jon began slowly. "I know that, despite your mother's orders, you've read and had Old Nan retell you the stories about the Master of Death and the Age of Heroes. So tell me sister, what do you remember about the Angels that followed the Master of Death?"

Arya immediately sat up straighter. Next to the tales of Visenya and Rhaeny Targaryen, the tales of the Angels of the Master of Death where some of her favorites. Strong influential warrior women who stood on equal footing side by side with one who was rumored to be next to a god. "Of course." Arya all but scoffed at the silly question. "They were strong warrior women who stood side by side with the Master of Death through everything!"

Jon nodded to her response. "Aye, they were that and a lot more. One was even his wife. They did stand by his side and protect him. And at the same time, he protected them. They were true equals. He shared with them his power and lifeforce and in turn they held shoulder his burden that he was forced to bare. The Angels are in fact a necessity for the Master of Death. Without them, well, things wouldn't end well for anyone. And now, and believe me I didn't mean for this to happen without your consent. And now…now you're one of my Angels Arya."

Arya blinked. '_What did he…what…I'm…how…who…'_ "What?"

Jon's smirked irked Arya as he reached out and ruffled her hair. "You're one of my Angels now Arya." Jon repeated. "In your heart you know that I'm speaking the truth of the matter. All this week you've felt different than before. You're faster, stronger and you can think of solutions to problems far faster than before. And if that wasn't enough, when I used my magic after you arrived you could feel something within you. Something calling out to you, begging to be used. It was your own magic. Supplemented and boosted by my own. And in time, I will teach you how to handle it properly. Once I can figure out my own magic that is."

Arya stared blankly at her brother as her seven name-day mind tried to wrap around what her brother had just told. "I'm…I'm an Angel now? I – I have magic?"

"Aye." Jon nodded.

Smiling broadly, Arya leapt up to her feet and embraced her brother. "That's awesome!" She exclaimed, her excitement taking over her completely. "No more silly sowing lessons or Lady etiquette with that boring Septa!"

"Not quite, little wolf." Arya nearly cringed at the sound of her fathers low rumbling voice coming from behind her. In her excitement, she'd honestly forgotten that her father and Robb were actually with them in the godswood. "You are still my daughter and still not of age. And while you feel those lessons are boring, there are many who would do anything to have you place within these walls."

"Lord Stark is right Arya." Jon continued before Arya could get a word in. "We have a long time ahead of us Arya. It won't kill you to go back to your lessons. And despite what you might think, Harry's Angels were actually quite lady like with their actions." Lowering his voice so that only the two of them could hear, Jon added a little more that made Arya smile. "Plus if you do your lessons well, I can show you how to use your magic to prank the Septa."

Feeling better, but still not great at having to go back to doing Lady things, Arya nodded and stepped back from her brother. "There is more that you need to tell her Jon." Her father added, making Arya swivel around, first to her father and then back to Jon.

"What?"

She could see her brother's face fall. "Arya…I…making you an Angel was a mistake. I should've asked you and explained everything before making the bond with you."

"A mistake?" Robb scoffed. "Come on Jon, you just gave Arya probably the greatest gift any has ever given her!"

"Aye, I suppose I have." Jon nodded with a smile, a smile which quickly faded. "But I've also taken from you. The last Master of Death lived for nearly eight thousand years Arya, as did his Angels. Odds are that we won't live that long, but we will live for a long time. Thousands of years perhaps at least."

Looking towards her father and older brother, Jon's words and the meaning behind those words slowly made sense. "Oh," she mumbled, feeling tears beginning to form at the corners of her eyes. "You mean…I'll, we'll, out live everyone."

"And their children and their children after them." Jon nodded sadly. "And that is not all. The bond we now share Arya, it's one of protection and balance. I share my power with you and protect you. And in return you protect me and help shoulder my burden. But, you can't have anything that would cause you to question our commitment to our cause. The magic that binds us together won't allow it. So, to that end…it's made, damn it. It's made you barren Arya. You'll never be able to have children of your own."

"Oh," Arya mumbled as she shrugged. "Well, that doesn't seem so bad."

"Perhaps now when you're young it doesn't seem so bad." Her father said, looking sadder than ever before as he stared at her. "But in the future you will know the pain of what you has been taken from you."

Biting her lip, Arya turned back to Jon. "So, basically we're going to live a lot longer than everyone else and I can't have children and those are the only downsides to this whole being an Angel thing?"

"No." Jon replied, shaking his head. "There are some other things, but I need to consult Harry's journals before we talk about them more. Cause, quite honestly, I don't even understand most of what Harry told me about the downsides."

"Okay," Arya nodded solemnly before pushing those feelings aside in favor or something else. "But in the end, we're still going to do everything we can for our brothers right?"

"And our sister Arya." Jon reminded her firmly.

Rolling her eyes, Arya shrugged. "Fine, and silly Sansa as well. Even though I doubt she'll want our help with anything…unless it's about dancing or sewing. Well, now that we've gotten all of that out of the way…when are you going to start teaching me magic brother! Can we start right now!? Because I really want to know how to turn clothes different colors! I'd love to see the look on Septa Mordane's face when I – umm, never mind."

Despite the solemn mood within the godswood, Arya smiled as she heard her brothers and even her father at her only slightly unintended slip of the tongue. '_I'm going to be an Angel!'_ Arya thought as she moved to the side as her father and brothers continued to discuss some of the things Jon and she could do to help Winterfell and the North as a whole. '_I am an Angel! This…this is completely awesome! I can't wait to rub this in perfect Sansa's face!'_

* * *

Hiding behind a small mound of rocks, Ygritte watched as her fellow Free Folk engaged the Crows on the southern end of the Bridge of Skulls. '_Fuck, you dumb fucking cunt.'_ Ygritte cursed at herself as she tightened her grip on her bow. '_You just had to go and take the first fucking opportunity that presented itself to you to get south, didn't you! Now look at where the fuck you are!'_

Notching an arrow, Ygritte peered around her hiding place and observed the small fight happening just on the southern side of the Gorge. The small raiding party she'd managed to find consisted of no more than three hands worth of Free Folk. Small enough to make it across the narrow bridge gather some supplies and retreat back across the bridge with hopefully none the wiser to their presence. Unfortunately for them, the Crows had for some reason decided to be at the bridge at the same time they'd just managed to step foot on the southern end. Unfortunately, the Crows numbered more than twice their own and her fellow Free Folk were being driven back as the Crows fancy steel cut through the Free Folk unmercifully. Animal hide might do good against fending off the cold, but it did little against the fancy steel of the Southern fools and the Crows.

At the start of the fight a handful of the Free Folk immediately fled south and Ygritte cursed their cowardness at leaving their fellow Free Folk to the mercy of the Crows. The only reason she wasn't amongst her fellows fighting against the Crows was because she'd wandered off after crossing the bridge to a safe spot to relieve herself. And by the time she'd managed to hitch up her pants and grab her bow, the fight was nearly over.

Watching the last of her fellow Free Folk get cut down, Ygritte lossened the tension on her bow and rolled back into her hiding place behind the rocks. "I think that's the last of the fuckers. Not much of a fight." She heard one of the Crows laugh, which made her want to come around and sink an arrow right into his eye.

"This isn't all of them." She heard another say. "Five fled south at the start of the engagement. You five, stay here and scavenge what you can from the Wildlings. Take anything useful and head back to Shadow Tower and report the Commander."

"Wait, this one here, she's still alive."

Eyes widening, Ygritte risked a look around her rocks. Her eyes widened as she saw the Crows divided into two groups. One group, the larger of the two, were slightly away from the battle while handful others were standing over one of her fellow spear-wives. She was a young woman, no older than Ygritte on her first raid. She remembered her cause she was a pretty little thing who only wanted to see the lands south of the wall and nothing more.

"She's a pretty thing." Ygritte hear the Crows laugh as one roughly kicked her in the gut. "Seems a waste if ya ask me."

"What should we do with her?" Another asked, turning to the larger group and looking towards one man in particular, more than likely the leader.

The leader shrugged. "She's a wildling. Fuck her, gut her, through her into the Gorge I don't care. The rest of you, with me. Do whatever you want then get rid of her. We have so stragglers to hunt down."

Ygritte stared in horror as the five that were left behind surrounded her fellow spear-wife. Their grins positively feral. "Well boy's," one said, taking out a dagger. "Let's have some fun!"

Unwilling to watch what was about to happen, Ygritte turned back into her hiding place. "Fuck." She muttered, knocking her head back against the hard rocks. Turning her head south, she saw the larger group slowly making it's way away from them at a leisurely pace. "Aw come one ser." One of the Crows in the larger group whined like a child. "Why do they get to have all the fun?"

"You can have fun with the next group that tries to cross. For now, shut up and lets move."

Grabbing a handful of arrows, she notched one and held the other in her bow hand as she watched the larger group slowly leave the area. Five she could handle. But against the larger group she wouldn't have a – "Ouch! Fuck! The fucking bitch bit me!"

"Well you did just try and stick your cock in her mouth! Hahaha! If you want to use that hole before this one, then knock her fucking teeth out you dumb fuck!"

Closing her eyes, she tried to keep out the sound of her fellow spear-wife being stolen repeatedly and by multiple Crows. "Fuck! This one is tight!"

"Bet she was a maid! Haha, you lucky fuck! I can't wait to get in there!"

"Yeah it's fucking - hey you dumb fuck! No cutting her until I'm through with the bitch!"

Unable to take it any longer, Ygritte spared one last look south to make sure the other group of Crows were out of eye sight before making her move.

Rolling out from behind her hiding place, Ygritte raised her bow. The five Crows had her fellow spear-wife on her hands and knees with one standing behind her taking her like a dog. Taking a breath, Ygritte leveled her bow and released. Her first arrow flew true right into the back of the head of the one who had his dagger in her speak-wife's mouth. Before the others could react, Ygritte loosened her grip on one of her arrows in her left hand and notched it before pulling back and letting it fly right into the mouth of the one who was mounting her fellow spear-wife.

By the time she'd drawn her third arrow, the remaining three finally noticed her presence. But it was too late for the one on the left as her arrow found its mark right into his eye. "Fucking cunt!" One of the Crows yelled as he tried to charge her before falling face first into the ground as his legs got tangled in his own down pants.

The other at least had the mind to put his wee cock back into his pants, but he was far too slow going about it. And Ygritte was on had her dagger buried in the fucker's throat before he could even draw his weapon. "You fucking bitch!" The one on the ground yelled as he struggled to pull up his pants. "I'm going to fucking rip open your fu-"

Flicking her wrist, Ygritte sent her dagger end over end through the air and into the man's throat. "Shut the fuck up Crow." She growled as she watched the man choke on his own blood as his hands tried desperately to remove her dagger from his throat.

Hearing a low groan, Ygritte felt her rage spike as she looked up. The Crow that'd been mounting her fellow spear-wife, the same one she'd put an arrow into through his mouth, was still alive and trying to crawl away with his pants still around his ankles. Grabbing one of the Crow's swords, Ygritte marched over to the bleeding and crawling Crow. Watching him in contempt for a moment, Ygritte stomped her foot down hard onto the middle of his back and pressed down, holding him in place. "An you Crows call us fucking savages!" Ygritte growled as she let the tip of the sword running down the Crows back. "And you go and stab an unwilling girl with your wee cock. You didn't wanna steal her or make her ye wife. Ya just wanted to spear your wee cock into something warm. Well, now ya gonna know what it feels to be speared before ye die."

Lowering the sword point just enough, Ygritte crouched down and brought her arm back to level the sword with the ground before thrusting forward right into the Crow's arse. "Now is it?" Ygritte growled as she slowly sheathed the sword into the Crows ass while keeping her weight on his back to keep him in place. "Not so pleasant when you're the one the getting speared eh?"

By the time she'd fully sheathed the sword, the Crow had long since stopped struggling as his life blood bled out onto the snowy ground. "Y – Ygritte."

Hearing her name, Ygritte immediately let go of the sword. Bile rose in her throat as she made her way back to her fellow spear-wife. Her clothes were shredded, and her maiden's blood soaked her inner thighs. Her exposed chest had a large wound just below her chest that was bleeding heavily and her face, by the old gods her face. Her cheeks were split open and several of her teeth were gone.

Kneeling down next to her, Ygritte grabbed her hand. "I'm sorry." She mumbled, bringing the dying woman's hand up to her lips.

Her spear-wife cried as she fought against the pain wracking her body. "I…I didn't want to hurt nobody. I just…I just wanted to see the south."

"I know." Ygritte mumbled, "these wounds…I ain't no healer."

"I know." The girl whispered. "Please…end it."

Nodding, Ygritte pulled out her second stone dagger and placed the tip against the girl's heart. "Be at peace with the god's sister." She mumbled before thrusting her stone dagger into the girl's heart, ending her suffering.

As she watched the life leave the young girl's eyes, Ygritte cursed the mysterious boy that'd invaded her thoughts several turns of the moon ago. She still remembered the morning clearly. She didn't know what it was that woke her, but she remembered waking up from a well-deserved sleep after a successful hunt with the image of young pretty boy ingrained in her mind. Ever since that moment, every time she closed her eyes, she saw the boy. Gods, she didn't even know who he was! All she knew was that he was south of the wall and that she needed to get to him.

And that was the only reason why she'd even decided to attach herself to this raiding group in the first place! To come south and find this boy! Although what she would do when she found him, she didn't know. He was pretty enough to be stolen. But more than anything she just wanted answers! She wanted to know why he invaded her mind so thoroughly!

Taking a deep breath to calm herself, Ygritte put down the girl's hand and went about collecting what supplies she could from the crows and her fellow Free Folk. Once she'd collected all that she could, she stopped once more over the dead girl. After a moment of hesitation, she roughly marched over and cut free one of the Crows cloaks and wrapped the girl in it before heaving her corpse over her shoulder. "It may take me some time to find some wood." Ygritte spoke aloud to both herself and the corpse. "But I promise ye that I won't let ye turn into one of _them."_


End file.
